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WANITA 




BY 


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Mrs. LAURA GWYN, 

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OF 



GREENVILLE, S. C. 


Copyright 1879, by Laura Gwyn. 


Charleston, S. C. : 

WALKER, EVANS & COGSWELL, PRINTERS, 

Nos. 3 Broad and 109 East Bay Streets, 

1880. 


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AS A 

of J^ffoctiott 

THIS LITTLE BOOK IS 

Inscribed to My Beloved Daughter 

AND NAME-SAKE, 

LAURA KATE GWYN, 

BY HER MOTHER, 

LAURA GWYN. 


PREFACE. 






In the story of “ Wanita,” the author holds the 
position that the happiness of a human being de- 
pends chiefly upon the faithful discharge of duty 
towards others. That virtue and intelligence are the 
real guardian of human happiness. 

If in this Universe of God’s there are immutable 
laws governing the stars in their orbits, there are also 
laws, equally immutable, applying to the lives of men. 
To be happy we must obey these laws ; and while 

“ There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, 

Rough-hew them as we will,” 

Every one has it in his power to resist evil influences, 
and thus, to a certain extent, rule his own destiny. 

The stories of Timothy Timbershins, several of 
which appear in this volume, are a series of whimsical 
stories, the scenes of which are laid in the mountain- 
ous part of South Carolina, that beautiful, picturesque 
sky-land with which many readers are unfamiliar. 
The descriptions, true to nature, the author having 
spent many years in that delightful region. The re- 
maining stories of Timothy Timbershins will appear 
with “ Claud Cantani, the Sequel to Wanita,” which is 
being prepared for the press. 









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WANITA 


CHAPTER 1 . 

THE SERENADE. 

I arise from dreams of thee, 

And a spirit in roy feet, 

Has led me — who knows how 
To thy chamber-window sweet.” 

Shelley. 

In a delightful vine embowered house, situated in 

a pleasant quarter of the city of C , on a balmy 

June night in the year 187 — , a beautiful girl was 
aroused from her slumber by the sound of a voice, 
accompanied by the mellow notes of a guitar. It was 
a deep rich voice, full of power, but soft and pathetic 
now, the voice of love telling in thrilling tones the 
oft-repeated story “of which the listening world is 
never weary.” Through the vine- clad lattice of the 
maiden’s chamber-window the sweet voice floated, 
and the shadowy dream, that laden with blessings, 
hovered over her pillow — fain to creep beneath her 
soft eye-lids, fled back through the gates of horn. 
She stirred, she awoke, she listened to the enchanting 
strain. 


2 


W A N 1 T A . 


Nita, Wanita, ask thy soul if we must part,” came 
soft and low — wafted in upon the perfumed wings of 
zephyr. The maiden’s face and form as she half 
arose from her couch to listen to the soul-entrancing 
music, made a picture that any lover of the beautiful 
would have been delighted to gaze upon. Her long, 
soft hair, escaping from band and coil, fell in rich 
wavy masses around a beautifully moulded form, 
clung to the bare white neck and rippled , over the 
fair shoulders. One round white arm and slender 
hand rested upon the snowy coverlet, while the other 
pushed the masses of heavy auburn hair from the 
pure child-like brow. 

She listened, with parted lips and softened eyes in 
that dimly lighted chamber, to those melodious notes, 
to her own name blended in music and poem, and 
made doubly sweet by the voice that uttered it. 

She listened, entranced until the last sweet note 
died, like a softly breathed farewell, upon the 
charmed air, filling her gentle heart with an indefina- 
ble sadness, only half akin to sorrow. Tears glistened 
on her long dark eye lashes, and her soft bosom 
heaved a heavy sigh. Wanita knew the voice — its 
tender pathetic music had charmed her many a time 
before — and long after the last note had died upon 
the moonlit air, she lay awake upon her couch, 
thinking, dreaming. The song said “farewell! fare- 
well! to her soul, she knew that the singer was thus 
bidding her adieu, and ere many hours had elapsed, 
would be, drawn by the swift strong spirit of steam, 
far away, bound for a distant land. 


W A N I T A . 


3 


No word of love had been spoken to Wanita by 
Paul Thornton, yet by intuition, which is very fine 
in some women, she knew that he regarded her with 
more than common interest. She thought of all the 
happy past; of his gentle friendship, manifested in 
so many ways. How often his fine voice had blended 
with her’s in her sweetest songs ; it was associated 
with all her favorite authors, most of whom he had 
taught her to love. He had contributed to her 
happiness in many ways, and now memory, “robed in 
softened light,” plead for him. Tender regret colored 
all her thoughts of him. She knew that he would 
take the train at two o’clock, and that the dawn of 
another day would find him far upon his way to the 

distant city of M , where business matters required 

his presence, and would probably detain him some 
time. 

Among the passengers on the two o’clock train 

leaving C that night, west-ward bound, might 

have been seen our serenader. Paul Thornton was a 
young man of about eight and twenty years of age. 
Not a “ beautiful man ” to look at, either, if beauty 
consists mostly of color and form. His features were 
not regular, and his form was rather more robust than 
the model Adonis. His complexion, somewhat 
bronzed by exposure to the sun, was healthfully ruddy, 
but his frank smile, and his large, dark-grey eyes, full 
of intelligence and expression, would have redeemed 
a much plainer face from the charge of ugliness. His 
broad fine brow, rather broad than high, was shaded 
by masses of dark curling hair, which he wore some- 


4 


W A N I T A . 


what long in defiance of the prevalent fcishion of close- 
cropt locks. His mouth, what you would see of it, for 
a heavy moustache and beard, was large but well- 
shaped ; so, though not a beautiful man,’’ Paul Thorn- 
ton was a comely one, and a very agreeable entertain- 
ing person too, if once you got into conversation with 
him. 

As the train thundered on its way, now plunging 
through the shadowy depths of a dense forest, now 
emerging into the clear white moonshine, now roar- 
ing through a sleeping town, Paul Thornton sat 
looking out into that lovely June night, a soft sadness 
had cast its shadow on his brow, memory, backward 
gazing memory, the pale enchantress, holds him too 
beneath her spell. His heart is left behind ! His 
thoughts are held captive by that sweet sleeper, at 
whose pure shrine he has made his last musical offer- 
ing, before leaving C . 

“ Nita, Wanita, ask thy soul if we must part ?” 

He never realized m.ore fully than now, his deep 
love for the young girl. 

In his breast pocket, very near his heart, Paul Thorn- 
ton carried constantly a small pencil likeness of Wan- 
ita, which he, guided by “ Love, the more ideal artist,” 
had executed himself, during his leisure hours, and 
he often gazed upon the little picture. The sweet 
child-like brow, soft downcast eyes, half-smiling, lovely 
though pensive little mouth, the very embodiment 
of maiden modesty and innocence, making his heart 
thrill with soft emotions true to the lovely absentee. 
He gazed upon it now in the white moonshine, pur- 


W A N I T A . 


5 


posely turning from the lamp-light within, to the fair 
moonlight without. He gazed upon it tenderly as he 
sped onward through the shadows, leaving her, sweet 
Wanita, with only a farewell wafted in a song, and he 
was touched almost to tears by the thoughts that 
thronged upon him. He loved Wanita as he had 
never loved another, as he never could love another, 
yet he was leaving her without having a definite un- 
derstanding ! Would it not have been better if he had 
spoken? But he was fully determined that this un- 
derstanding should be arrived at very soon. He hoped 
that his business affairs would not keep him absent 

long from C , and it would not be his fault, if, 

on his return, he did not win this fair young flower, 
where-with-all, to gladden and beautify his life. 

It was also perfectly clear that if Wanita became 
his wife, he would do all that a noble, true, intelli- 
gent man could do to make her happy. So, as he 
journeyed on, his thoughts stilf reverted to her. 
Wanita’s image, glowing, perfect, beautiful, filled his 
soul. On the margin of that little picture in his hand 
Paul Thornton wrote in the white moonshine a line 
with his pencil, and affixed the date, “June 2d, 
187—” 

Paul Thornton was a fine scholar, a man of varied 
accomplishments and extensive learning, yet he was 
a business man in the strictest sense of the term. 
Active, energetic, a man of keen shrewd sense and 
sound judgment, quick to see and to act. Elegant 
literature and the fine arts, especially music, had 
been his solace and delight, his rest from more labor- 


6 


W A N I T A . 


ions studies. Yet, his high soul, his restless, active 
nature, his free life, were filled up with many things 
besides, and his warm human heart beat in sympathy 
with his fellow men. He lived a joyful active life, 
and did a great many good and gentle deeds as he 
went along, besides fighting several hard battles for 
the right. 

Mr. Thornton reached the end of his long journey 
safely, and was soon absorbed in his business matters, 
which he found required his attention more urgently 
than he had thought. There were land claims to look 
after for himself and others ; sales to make, and, to 
his great annoyance, he found himself involved in a 
long troublesome lawsuit. Fight it out before the 
courts or give up a just claim — that was the way it 
stood. He chose to fight, and it required his sharpest 
wits and those of a shrewd lawyer to meet the emer- 
gency and defeat the plans of a trickish dishonest op- 
ponent. He took hold of all these matters with an 
energy that ensured success. Indeed, Paul Thornton 
seldom failed in an undertaking. He was what is 
called in the world a lucky man, the fact being that he 
was a prompt, intelligent, attentive working man. 
His soul was full of immutable love for Wanita. Her 
fair young face, her graceful form, the music of her 
voice, even the colors that she oftenest wore, the per- 
fumes that she habitually used, haunted the man’s 
brain. She was constantly in his thoughts ; yet none 
of the dry details of business, or the technicalities of 
law were overlooked. No efinni for such a man as 
this — he had no time for it. His love for Wanita only 


W A N I T A . 


7 


stirred his mind to greater activity. His impatience 
to see her again, showed itself in the diligence with 
which he applied himself to the work that was keep- 
ing him from her side. His love was of the greatest, 
but it was entirely free from the petty annoyances of 
a meaner passion. Jealousy, suspicion, had no place 
with him. So his work sped in the distant city, while 
his love kept warm and true in the depths of a brave 
manly heart. 

As for pretty Wanita — for her part, many days after 
his departure her soul was haunted by that farewell 
strain ; her heart was held in the magic spell of that 
pathetic voice, and she went about in a sort of dream- 
ful revery, often humming softly to herself : 


“ In thy dark eyes splendor, 

Where the warm light loves to dwell, 
Weary looks yet tender 
Speak their fond farewell. 

Nita, Wanita, ask thy soul if we must part ; 
Nita, Wanita, lean thou on my heart.’' 


8 


W A N I T A . 


CHAPTER II. 

“ Sublimest danger over which none weeps 
When any young wayfaring soul goes forth 
Alone, unconscious of the perilous road, 

The day-sun dazzling in his limpid eyes, 

To thrust his own way — he an alien — through 
The world of books !” 

No such danger for our Wanita. Her lot was cast 
among true and loving friends — competent guides for 
the innocent youth. Her mother was a woman of more 
than ordinary character and intelligence, by culture 
and talent quite capable of training and helping to 
educate her daughter. Her father, though prevented 
by the calls of business, from bearing an equal share 
in this pleasant task, had spared no pains or ex- 
pense in the education of his only child. Indeed it 
had been the chief delight of these good parents — this 
training and helping this earnest young soul in its 
upward efforts. So the childhood of Wanita Clifton 
had been full of the bliss that should belong to that 
period. Her mother had led her by “ still waters and 
into green pastures ” of learning, instead of over the 
rough stony ways, by which reluctant youth is too 
often goaded the way it should (not) go. 

Mr. Clifton, his wife, his aged mother, and this one 
child, lived very happily, we may be sure, in the vine- 
embowered house which we have described. Mr. 
Clifton, at the opening of our story, was a merchant. 


W A N I T A . 


9 


an active, vigorous man, still in the prime of life. 
Mrs. Clifton, several years younger than her husband, 
a very loveable, attractive woman, with a sweet, pale, 
oval face, full of expression. The elder Mrs. Clifton, 
Wanita’s dear grandmother, though time had dealt 
gently with her, she showed by the silvery whiteness 
of her hair, and the lines upon her farled face, of 
thought and care as well as time, that she was in the 
restful evening tide of life. Between the aged grand- 
mother and the young girl there existed the strongest 
love and sympatliy. Nature delights in contrasts, 
and Wanita, the beautiful, blooming maiden, was all 
the lovelier that she tended and comforted and loved 
her silvery-haired grandmother. 

But there was another person who had exerted con- 
siderable influence over Wanita's education. Paul 
Thornton, though at least ten years her senior, and a 
man of multifarious business cares and interests, had 
always, from his first acquaintance — which acquaint- 
ance was now of some six or seven years standing — 
managed to spare time from other matters, to devote 
to Wanita. He had helped her in her music, to form 
her literary taste, pointing out to her the beauties and 
excellencies of his favorite authors, often lending the 
charm of his voice (a fine sonorous one), to impress 
them upon her young mind. He had been attracted 
by the pretty, graceful child ; he deeply, passionately 
loved the young maiden of eighteen. Wanita had no 
greater charm, with all her bloom and youth, and 
intelligence, than her voice ; whether in singing or 
conversing, it was of exceeding sweetness. Culture 


10 


W A N I T A . 


had not spoiled it, and it exerte.l an influence over 
every one with whom she associated ; its tender music 
was rarely forgotten. This voice was to Paul Thorn- 
ton the one melodious sound for which his soul pined 
in the distant city. Few women sufficiently value the 
charms of a sweet, low, musical voice. Few imagine 
the influence such a voice exerts. Wanita was ad- 
mired and loved, more perhaps, fer the beauty of her 
voice — the expression of a gentle, tender spirit — than 
for the loveliness of her fair young face I 


CHAPTER III. 


Could love part thus ? Was it not well to speak, 

To have spoken once ? It could not but be well ! 

Tennyson. 

It was early in July — a month alter the departure 

of Paul Thornton from C . The day was sultry 

and bright. No gentle breeze brought relief on its 
beneficent wings. There was no comfort for the heat 
in the outer air, and Wanita, in her cool parlor, had 
spent a great part of the morning at the piano. She 
had played and sung all her own and Mr. Thornton’s 
favorite songs — that farewell serenade among the 
rest — it was the last one she sang. Does he think 
of me,” she mused, “ among strangers in a strange 
city ? — or have other images crowded mine from his 
mind ? She was startled from her m usings by the 
voice of little Kitty, the house-maid, calling to Mrs. 
Clifton : “ Oh, ma’am ! ma’am ! a man has fallen 

down dead at the gate ! ” Mrs. Clifton ran out, where 
a crowd had already gathered, and sure enough, there 
lay extended on the pavement, a young man, appa- 
rently insensible, or perhaps dead. 

“ Sunstruck,” said an elderly gentleman in the 
crowd. “ Let us bear him to the shade.” Mrs. Clif- 
ton instantly came forward, and offered the hospitality 
of her roof. Thither the inanimate form was imme- 
diately borne, and a physician sent for. It was a case 
of sunstroke, and it was sometime before the stranger 


W A N I T A . 


1 2 

was restored to consciousness. Mrs. Clifton watched 
over and ministered to him with the patience and 
gentleness of a mother. But who was he ? None 
of the people who gathered around him when he fell, 
knew anything about him. The physician had never 
seen him before. He breathed. He lived, but his 
life hung, as it were, upon a thread. Nothing could 
be learned from him of course. 

When Mr. Clifton returned from his business late 
in the afternoon, and was carried to the bedside of the 
stranger, he immediately recognized him. 

“ He is a clerk in Mr. Worth’s store. His name is 

Brandon. He lives with his mother on street.” 

Mr. Clifton hastened to send his carriage for the 
young man’s mother, with a note telling her of his 
condition. Mrs. Brandon came immediately, and was 
greatly distressed at the state in which she found her 
son. She was very grateful for the kindness rendered, 
and accepted Mr. and Mrs. Clifton’s invitation to make 
their house her home, until her son could be removed 
with safety. 

Mrs. Brandon and her son, Mr. Julius Brandon, 

were strangers in C . They had moved into 

the city but a short time before the incident above 
described, and Mr. Clifton and his wife sympathized 
with them in their affliction, knowing that they were 
without friends. Everything was done to make Mrs. 
Brandon feel at home, and as if she were among 
friends in her time of trouble. Mrs. Clifton and 
Wanita helped and cheered her in nursing her son 
through his dangerous sickness. At last Mr. Julius 


W A N I T A . 


13 


was well enough, though still very weak, for hi's 
mother to make little flying visits home. She always 
left him in the care of Mrs. Clifton and Wanita, 
sometimes grandmother joining them. These little 
absences of his mother Mr. Julius bore with exem- 
plary patience. Often Wanita would bring her guitar, 
at his request, and sing some simple melody — the 
invalid was never tired of listening to her voice. 

Thus a friendship sprang up between the two fami- 
lies, Mrs. Brandon and Mr Julius being very grate- 
ful for the kindness lavished on them, and Clifton and 
family happy in doing a good deed. Noble friend- 
ships often spring from such seed. 

When Mr. Julius Brandon had sufficiently recov- 
ered to be removed to his own home, Mrs. Clifton, 
prompted by feelings of kindly sympathy, sent to 
enquire about him ; and what more natural or proper 
than that he should, after his recovery, come in per- 
son to make acknowledgments of all the favors he 
had received ? The ladies, too, exchanged occasional 
visits, which were enjoyed by both. Mrs. Brandon 
was profuse in her expressions of gratitude for the 
gentle service done herself and son. How could it be 
otherwise ? 

So something like two months after Mr. Thornton’s 
departure for the West, Mr. Julius was on friendly 
familiar terms with the Clifton family, and a constant 
visitor at the vine-embowered house. 


14 


W A N I T A . 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ There’s some one coming, girl, 
Some one coming ; 

Stop, arrange that graceful curl — 
There’s some one coming.” 


Nita, Wanita ask thy soul if we must part ?” 
Oh ! haunting voice, floating down from that balmy 
June night into the rich hazy autumn weather now 
fast approaching. She has not forgotten ; she often 
dreams of the vanished June-time. But other pictures 
are being limned upon the fair pages of her life. 
The sweet honey suckle has bloomed the summer 
long (the June roses are all dead long ago) and 
their delicate odor floats in through the open lattice, 
where the song we know of was once wafted in to the 
dreamer’s soul. But there is another voice that is 
often whispering at her ear. Ah, Mr. Thornton : 

“ Was it not well to speak. To have spoken once? 
It could not but be well!” Wanita is scarce a woman 
in years, and a child, almost, in the artless simplicity of 
her character. She is faithful and true, but what has 
the absent one done to bind her young heart? 
Wafted her a farewell in a song and a sigh, and gone 
his long way ! 

“Does my old friend rememoer me?” comes 
sometimes to her thoughts. “ He is a grand, a good, 
a gifted man ; I am but a simple maiden ; (thus she 


W A N I T A . 


15 


underrates herself in her lowliness) and how can it be 
that he loves me? It is folly to take that song in 
earnest, to think that those soul-lit eyes do not flash 
the same glorious light upon others that they once 
poured upon me ! and that deep voice vibrate on 
other ears, just as sure to listen, delighted.” Thus 
mused Wanita in her vine-embowered house, as 
months went by. And Mr. Julius, for his part, was 
not backward in urging his suit. No delicate atten- 
tion was forgotten, nothing was wanting to make her 
forget. 

Mr, Julius was now Wanita’s constant visitor, and 
Mr. and Mrs. Clifton were passive. Mr. Clifton hear- 
ing only good accounts of the young man, and Mrs. 
Clifton, like most women, willing that the responsi- 
bility (thinking that it can do so safely) should rest in 
her husband’s hands. But grandmother was not ex- 
actly pleased. She had not been from the first. Those 
old eyes did look with something very like distrust 
upon our handsome young gentleman. For if Paul 
Thornton fell short of the ideal Adonis, the “ beauti- 
ful man,’Miere is one who does noL 

Mr. Julius Brandon was several years younger than 
Paul Thornton, and looked much younger than he 
really was. His features were almost perfectly regu- 
lar and of the finest Grecian type. His eyes were 
dark, with long lashes ; they would have been hand- 
somer but for a habit he had of narrowing them a 
little too much at times. He had a fair proportion of 
forehead, at least the one-third of the Greek models, 
and finely arched eyebrows. His mouth — there was 


6 


W A N I T A . 


something almost feminine in the delicate beauty of 
his curled lips. His close-cropt but dark glossy hair 
set off to advantage a fine complexion. His form was 
well proportioned and graceful, and he always dressed 
in perfect taste. What could grandmother see in him 
to dislike? Old people are apt to be governed a good 
deal by prejudice. So our handsome young gentle- 
man was obliged to look over the coolness of her 
greeting, and Wanita was frequently obliged to put 
in a soft word of defence (which was not good for our 
serenader’s cause) for him, when grandmother was 
inclined to be severe. 

Good old grandmother, gentle, meek of spirit al- 
ways. It looked strange that she should find fault 
with our admirable Crichton ! He was always so 
attentiv^e to her too, so gentle and respectful in his 
manners towards her. “ O, mother,” said Mrs. Clifton, 
“you who are always so kind and gentle, so full of 
charity towards others, it is strange that you dislike 
Mr. Brandon so much.” 

“ I can’t divest myself of the impression he has 
made upon me, daughter. He is very well informed 
and remarkably fine looking. He is police, too, well 
bred, yet I mistrust him. We must be eareful 'not to 
be blinded by appearances. There is an expression at 
times on his face, in unguarded moments, that frightens 
me.” 

“ Why, mother, I never saw a finer face !” 

“ The handsomest men, as history proves to us, are 
not always the best or most trustworthy.” 

Mrs. Clifton’s face expressed uneasiness. She had 


W A N I T A . 


17 

seen that day on the daughter’s hand the little gold 
band — the betrothal ring; she knew that matters had 
gone so far, though nothing had been said between 
mother and daughter on the subject. So she softly 
answered : 

“ He bears a good name, as far as we know. He is 
intelligent and amiable, and if our darling likes him, 
I do not see how we can object.” 

“True, my dear,” replied grandmother, but re- 
member, though I don’t like to say anything that will 
damp your happiness or Wanita’s, I am not in favor 
of this young man. There lurks an expression in his 
eyes, at times, that I do not trust. I hope it will turn 
out all well, and my language may be too strong, but 
remember, between Judas and John there was but one 
little word — sincerity. Mr. Julius may be better than 
I think he is, but I don’t quite trust him. I say,, 
beware !” 

“ Can mother,” mused Mrs. Clifton, “ be influenced 
by prejudice, the curse of age, and is her judgment 
warped, and her sense of justice lost in imaginary 
fears ?” 

It never struck the daughter’s mind, that age, expe- 
rience, but mostly love., had sharpened old grand- 
mother’s faculties, and she saw clearer than younger 
people. 

“ We will say nothing of all this to Wanita,” said 
Mrs. Clifton, after a silence. “ I am loth to cast a 
shadow on her young life, and after all, it may be only 
imagination,, dear mother.” 

The old grandmother only reiterated : 


i8 


W A N I T A . 


“ Beware !” 

When Wanita entered the room a few minutes after 
this conversation, and seating herself on a low stool 
at her grandmother’s feet, took her fine old hand in 
her own soft velvety palm, the old lady smiled down 
upon her with the beautiful affection, with which we 
often see the aged regard the young, beaming in her 
face. The conttast between these two was perfect, 
and so was the love. Wanita laid her soft rose-tinted 
cheek on her grandmother’s knee, and looking up with 
a smile, arch but shy, into that wrinkled, faded but 
beloved face, held up her left hand so that her grand- 
mother might see the ring, the little gold band of the 
betrothal. A slight shade of pain or sorrow passed 
over the good old face, and a tear dimmed the meek 
eyes for an instant, but she bent down and kissed the 
sweet face on her knee, remembering her daughter- 
in-law’s request, she only said : 

Yes. dear.” 


W A N I T A . 


19 


CHAPTER V. 


What ! love and He ! 

Nay, go to the opera ! your love’s curable? 

Mrs. Browning. 

One morning — there was the least hint of Autumn 
in the tints of the sky and in the bracing morning and 
evening air — 

“ I am going to the post office,” said Mr. Julius, 
as he passed through his mother’s room. I will be 
back directly.” 

Here is a letter I wish you to mail,” replied Mrs. 
Brandon, laying it on the table as she spoke. Mr. 
Julius went for his hat and gloves, his mother to her 
housekeeping. 

That morning grandmother Clifton sat by a front 
window, looking out. She saw Mr. Julius approach- 
ing the house; the vines entirely concealed her from 
his view. He walked with a light, elastic, graceful 
step, his fine head erect, and a slight smile upon his 
handsome, youthful face. He had quite recovered 
from his illness, though he had not returned to his 
employment. He would re-enter Mr. Worth’s store 
to-morrow. He had advanced half-way up the walk, 
some twenty yards, all unconscious that those old 
eyes were bent upon him from the window above, 
when a large, beautiful butterfly fluttered across the 
walk, closely pursued by grandmother’s pet cat. The 


20 


W A N I T A . 


rich downy wings flashed in the*" sunlight, made a 
feeble effort to rise, then sank to the ground, almost 
within the grasp of grimalkin. Instantly Mr. Julius 
stooped and lifted the butterfly from his feet, without 
injuring its delicate beauty, and with a gentle graceful 
motion, wafted it away over among the thick, high 
rose bushes, out of reach of its grim foe. “ A man,” 
mused grandmother, “ who would thus interpose to 
save the life of a poor insect, must have good and 
gentle qualities. I may have been too severe in my 
judgment.” 

Mr. Julius was at a loss to account for the change 
in grandmother’s conduct towards him ; the change 
was slight but it was clear to the observant eyes of 
Mr. Julius. He rarely, from that time, failed to get a 
kindly greeting and a gentle clasp of the fine old hand, 
instead of the stately courtesy with which she had 
heretofore met him. Desirous to be just, grand- 
mother recounted the affairs to Mrs. Clifton and 
Wanita. 

“ A tender, pitiful nature is not apt to be depraved, 
and I may have been unjust to Mr. Julius.” So the 
“beware,” was partially withdrawn. Mr. Julius had 
a very pleasant visit that morning. Grandmother, as 
if to make amends for former coolness, treated him 
with considerable urbanity, while Wanita, in her con- 
sciousness of his love, was more charming than ever. 
When at last he rose to go, Wanita gave him a beau- 
tiful rare rose for his mother. “ Thank you for 
UiOther,” he said with a bright smile, “ she will be 
delighted.” No face could have been pleasanter or 


W A N I T A . 


21 


franker in its expression than was that of Mr. Julius 
Brandon at that moment, yet his mother never saw 
one petal of that flower ! Mr. Julius as he crossed 
the river in his walk homeward, paused a moment on 
the bridge ; he gazed upon the gorgeous beauty in 
his hand ; (his face darkened strangely) he pressed it 
a moment to his lips for Wanita’s sake, then dropped 
it over the railing into the water below. He watched 
the richly colored flower as it whirled and floated on 
the sun-lit water, and his thoughts ran thus : 

Mother frets herself to death about me. She does- 
not like Wanita. Indeed,” more bitterly, “ she does 
not like any one who pleases me. What a curse it is 
this secret of mother’s! It lies at the bottom of all 
this trouble. How it warps us both away from truth 
and right into crooked deceitful ways ! ” And he 
walked on with ringing steps over the hard pavement, 
an ugly frown settling on his handsome face, and his 
darkened narrowed eyes burning with an angry re- 
sentful fire. A curse upon such a life as I am 
obliged to lead I O, Felise I and mother! what 
wretchedness for me ! ” 

Strange thoughts these, to haunt the brain of an 
accepted lover, just from the presence of his beloved ; 
strange thoughts indeed, and one who had seen the 
young man as he sat a few moments before at the side 
of the pure sweet girl whom he had vowed to love 
“ while life lasts,” would have been puzzled to believe 
that this was the same face, so transformed was it by 
bad passions ! Wanita would have shrunken tremb- 
ling and affrighted at the dark fearful expression of 


22 


W A N I T A . 


the handsome face ; an expression of blended anger 
and shame. Two little children running along the 
street with laughing eyes and gladsome voices, hushed 
their me.rry prattle as they glanced up into his face, 
and sprang away as if afraid. Half an hour after 
when he entered his mother’s presence, his brow had 
not entirely cleared. 

You have been gone a long while Julius,” said his 
mother, “ Where have you been ? ” He walked out 
of the room without seeming to hear her. 

To the post office, Jane, to be sure,” said Miss 
Magg, Mrs. Brandon’s sister, who sat near sewing; 
“ don’t you remember you gave him a letter to mail 
this morning?” 

Mrs. Brandon pointed to the letter lying sealed and 
directed on the table. “ He would have been back 
long ago, Magg, if he had only gone to the post office, 
and you see, here is the letter I wished him to mail.” 

There was a troubled look on the mother’s face as 
she sat there, leaning her head against her hand. 
There was a look in her black eyes very like the one 
her son’s had worn half an hour before, as he stood on 
the bridge. This woman and her son did not in the 
least resemble each other, and it was only when they 
were under the influence of similar feelings that any 
resemblance could be traced. Mrs. Brandon’s brow 
was almost hidden by the heavy dark hair that grew 
low upon it. . Her face was thin, her complexion sal- 
low, her mouth close and small ; but her black eyes 
had the same trick of narrowing under any unpleasant 
emotion, and this it was that made the resemblance to 


W A N I T A . 


23 


her handsome son. She knew that Mr. Julius had 
often deceived her, she was used to it, yet it vexed 
her. She did not allude to the letter again, and that 
afternoon he quietly took it from the table and mailed 
it. 

A few evenings after this, Mr. Julius came home 
early from business. His mother met him with a 
smile, and he kissed her affectionately on the cheek. 
Miss Magg looked on well pleased, for she was a 
kind-hearted creature, and pitied this unhappy mother 
and son ; then she was glad on her own account of 
any sunshine that might happen to fall upon this 
house. 

Mr. Julius complained of fatigue and retired to his 
own room, after early tea. When he reached his 
chamber, walking with languid steps, he closed the 
door, but did not sink to rest in his luxurious chair 
(always ready) like a weary mortal that he was. An 
entire change passed over him, as soon as the door 
was closed. He immediately (moving noiselessly, but 
briskly) proceeded to bathe his face, brush his hair, 
and give the finishing touches to a fastidious toilet. 
He then stealthly left the room, passed out at the 
back gate, and was soon walking lightly along the 
street, without any appearance of weariness, towards 
Mr. Clifton’s house, where he in due time presented 
himself Mr. Julius was, if possible, more agreeable 
than usual that evening, upon the principle, we sup- 
pose, that “ stolen pleasures are sweet.’’ He chatted 
with grandmother, praised a new painting, pointing 
out to Mrs. Clifton its beauties, with great taste and 


24 


W A N I T A . 


discrimination. He joined Wanita at the piano in 
her songs, his fine mellow voice adding much to the 
music. Every one was delighted. Mr. Clifton came 
in late, but in time to hear “Bonny Boon,” “Sweet 
Afton,” and several other of his favorite songs, before 
Mr. Julius tore himself away from the pleasant family 
circle. When Mr. Julius took his leave, Wanita gave 
him a copy of Burns’ poems, so that he might learn 
some of her favorite songs. 

In bidding Wanita good night, a close observer 
might have seen that Mr. Julius held the slender 
fingers rather longer than was required to complete 
that ceremony; and her pretty smile and the blush 
that suffused her cheek told that she noticed it. 

So back to his own home on the opposite side of 
the city, went this young man, his light graceful 
figure flitting through shadow and sheen of this fair 
night, humming “ Sweet Afton ’’ softly as he went, a 
smile on his lips, and a feeling of light joy in his 
heart. What a pity that he could not always look 
and feel thus ! 

When he came near his home, he was surprised to 
see a light shining from the window of his room. 
The dark shadow instantly fell like a cowl over his 
face. He knew that his mother had missed him — was 
watching him. He stood gazing a moment, then 
marched into the house, slamming the door noisily, 
and would have gone to his room without speaking 
to any one, had he not met his mother on the stairs. 
She said in her gentlest, most coaxing tones — 

“ Julius, I thought you were asleep. I wanted — ’’ 


W A N I T A . 


25 


“ No difference,” and darting a dark look at her, 
he took the lamp from her hand and went on. Mrs. 
Brandon walked into her room, where Miss Magg 
awaited her, and sinking into a chair, heaved a deep 
sigh. “ See how he deceives me, Magg,’’ she S3.id 
sadly. Miss Magg was tired and sleepy, and did not 
think that it amounted to much after all, so she re- 
plied carelessly, “ well, you are more than even with 
him in that line, Jane.” 

“ After all that I have endured for him, to be hood- 
winked and deceived in this way ! He thinks that I 
don’t know where he spends his evenings — ” 

“ As long as he keeps out of trouble, Jane, I would 
not worry about Julius. He is a grown man. Let 
him take care of himself” 

But I tell you, it is his daily practice to deceive 
me. It is too bad. I know that he has given me 
more trouble — .” She did not finish the sentence. 
Mr. Julius, having noislessly entered the room in his 
slippers, stood before her. He did not speak for a 
full minute, but stood regarding her with a look that 
was anything but pleasant. She winced and quailed 
under his dark gaze, for she did not know how much 
of the conversation he had heard. He took a book 
from the table. 

“ Mother,” he said in a harsh, high voice, as he left 
the room, “ I am tired of this folly. I want it to 
stop.” He left her all trembling ; her black eyes 
dilated to their fullest size. 

Upon reaching his room again, Mr. Julius threw 
himself into his luxurious chair, and taking his flute 
2 


26 


W A N I T A . 


from its case, blew “Bonny Doon,’’ “Sweet Afton,” 
and several other pretty plaintive melodies upon it 
The mellow notes reached the ear of his unhappy 
mother, sitting where he had left her. 

Mr. Julius Brandon’s room was furnished with great 
elegance, for he was a man of exquisite taste in such 
matters; and as he sat with his fine head thrown 
back, resting with ease upon the yielding velvet 
cushion of his chair, he enjoyed the luxury of a 
pleasant revery. His mother’s secret and his own, 
everything disagreeable was forgotten, as he sat there 
in the glamor of hope and love. But he, ere long, 
aroused himself, and drawing pencil and paper to his 
side, busied himself some little time with certain 
arithmetical calculations, a sort of inventory of his 
future prospects. He seemed pleased with the result. 
He then poured out in a glass a potion from a little 
vial, which he carried in his pocket, mixed with water 
and drank it; after which he betook himself to 
slumber. 

Mr. Julius kept his own council, we see, but his 
mother, being herself pretty well versed in the art of 
ferriting out, and also of keeping secrets, was, by one 
means and another, generally very well informed 
about her son’s affairs. She was always on the 
watch, and rarely failed to pick up a clue that was 
dropped in her way. It was a habit with her to 
watch everybody and everything. Her nature might 
be called feline^ smooth to outward appearances, pur- 
ring and soft on most occasions, but exceeding vigi- 
lant, and even capable of showing a sharp claw and a 


W A N I T A . 


27 


formidable fang, if occasion required it. So when she 
arranged Mr. Julius’ room the next morning, after the 
little scene above described, she did not fail, indeed 
she never failed, to see every thing in it. At one 
time, as she dusted the writing desk, she might be 
seen examining the blotting paper with patient scru- 
tiny, trying to make out a word, a name in its mixed 
chirography. A note, if one chanced to lurk in any 
of his pockets, was sure to be drawn out to the light, 
carefully read and replaced. Even an old envelope 
on the grate, was not beneath her notice, if peradven- 
ture, a hint might be caught; the handwriting recog- 
nized, or remembered if ever seen again. So in the 
long run, she was generally well up with my young 
gentleman, and found abundant matter to fret about. 

Yet this poor mother, with all her imperfections, 
loved her son in her way. Not with the supremely 
good love of a better mother, but according to her 
nature, and having nothing in the wide world to love 
but him. Mr. Julius was well aware of his mother’s 
little peculiarities and usually kept suspicious docu- 
ments out of harms way ; but be as careful as he 
would, he sometimes, in the hurry of other matters, 
overlooked some thing that the cat’s paw would 
pounce upon immediately. 

Mrs. Brandon loved her son in her way, but she 
was most unfortunate as a mother. The fact, as we 
have said, of her having hidden deep in her heart and 
life, a ghastly secret, the lact that this secret, whatever 
it was, kept her thoughts away from all cheerful, 
wholesome subjects; fastened upon itself like the 


28 


W A N I T A . 


iron drag to the dreadful putrid body of death hidden 
under the dark water, would alone have rendered her 
peculiarly unfit to rear and train a child. At no time 
had she, since the birth of this child, been free for one 
moment from the strong tyranny of this secret. What 
way for her except the dark dubious ways of deceit? 
Confidence between herself and son never had existed. 
She had hidden this secret instinctively from him 
from the first. But he had long ago surmised it, 
suspected something, discovered the shadow of some- 
thing that he did not understand, falling like a curse 
upon his mother s life and his. They lived, these two, 
bound by the closest earthly tie^ in mutual distrust 
and misery. 

When Mrs. Brandon found the copy of Burns on 
her son’s table, she instantly noticed that it was a new 
book, that she had never seen it there before, and 
when she opened it and read on the fly leaf, “ Wanita 
Clifton,” written in a neat female hand, it is impos- 
sible to describe the expression of her face — it would 
have been a study for Lavater. Her black eyes 
seemed fairly to retreat in her head, her thin lips 
closed tightly. 

O,” she muttered through her teeth, “ this is 
what the flute playing meant.” She laid the book 
among the others in neat order, she dusted and aired 
the room, she arranged it according to her son’s fas- 
tidious taste, filled the vases with tasteful bouquets, 
made of such grasses and flowers as she had ; did 
all, in short, that a neat housekeeper or a thoughtful 
mother could do to make it pleasant and attractive. 


W A N I T A . 


29 


but that cunning, troubled look never for one instant 
left her face. When she joined her sister an hour 
later and sat down to her work, she looked so worn 
and troubled that Miss Magg asked what was the 
matter. 

“Just as I told you, Julius spends his evenings with 
Wanita Clifton,” was the reply. 

“Well, Jane, what of that ?’^ I would not care if I 
were you,” answered Miss Magg. Miss Magg was 
the only person living (save one) besides Mrs. Bran- 
don who knew the secret. Mrs. Brandon bent close to 
her ear and whispered : 

“ What will those proud, high-born women say 
when they know it P' 

“No need for them to knpw it at all,” replied Miss 
Magg, rather startled. 

“ Don’t you suppose Mrs. Clifton, or that sharp- 
eyed old grandmother would find it out? Yes, and 
what would become of me, of us 

“ I don’t see why you trouble yourself in this way,” 
said Miss Magg, after a pause, “Julius does not 
marry every girl he visits, we all know. Remember 
Felise. Wait till there is some certainty about it, 
and don’t go out of doors, Jane, to meet trouble.” 

“ ‘ An ounce of preventive is worth a pound of 
cure.” ’ 

“ There is one thing, Wanita is an only child and 
her father is rich. Julius is the last man, with his 
tastes and habits, who ought to marry a poor girl.” 

“ He ought not to marry at all, during my life- 
time.” 


30 


W A N I T A . 


“ Prevent it if you can, but make the best of it if 
you can’t prevent. It might be, upon the whole, a 
good thing for Julius, he is so vacillating, and — ’’ 

“I knoiv it would bring ruin on me. Wanita 
would change when she finds out everything.” 

“ But she never would find out anything wish 
to conceal. I never saw a more innocent, unsuspicious 
person.” 

“ I tell you time will change her, she is young. I 
wish to heaven she were poor I knoiv Julius will 
never marry a poor girl.” 

“ I tell you, Jane, you go out of your way to hunt 
up trouble. Let Julius alone, he won’t keep one no- 
tion a week !” 

“I shall keep a lookout.” 


W A N I T A . 


31 


CHAPTER VI. 

He says to her what moves her most, 

He would not name his soul within. 

Her presence, rather pays her cost, 

With praises to her lips and chin. 

Man has but one soul ’tis ordained. 

And each soul biit one love, I add, 

Yet souls are damned and love’s profaned. 

Mrs. Browning. 


There lived, almost unknown to Wanita, several 
squares from the vine-embowered house, a family by 
the name of Frytagg. Captain Frytagg and family 

were new comers to C , and as they lived in a 

handsome house, in rather showy style, they got on 
very well in society. The past history of the Frytaggs 
was somewhat hidden in clouds of obscurity (conve- 
nient for the Captain) and Madam Rumor whisper 
certain unpleasant things about them. But then the 
house, the horses and carriage, but most of all Mrs. 
Frytagg, Miss Josephine Frytagg and Mr. J. G. 
Smythe Frytagg, were veritable realities, capital that 
the “ Captain’’ could depend on. This family made up 
in dash and show what it lacked in more substantial 
qualities. Captain Frytagg was quite a conspicuous 
object about the city. He rode round town in high 
style. Every thing about him seemed to shine, from 
the crown of his beaver hat to the tip of his polished 
boot. His buttons shone, his heavy watch chain 


32 


W A N I T A . 


shone, and his face (there was a hint of brass in it all) 
shone benignly on every thing and every body. Mrs. 
Captain Frytagg was a large lady, with bright black 
eyes, very red cheeks, and a full voluptuous form, 
which she carried with an air. Mrs. Frytagg’s mouth 
v/as indeed her most serious drawback to beauty, it was 
what we might strictly speaking call a “pouch miOuth,” 
something perhaps, like that with which Margaret 
of the Tyrol used to smile upon her royal lovers, a 
few hundreds of years ago, and by which she is still dis- 
tinctively remembered. But despite her pouch- 
mouth, Mrs. Captain Frytagg, richly attired, as she 
always went, was a conspicuous person. Miss 
Josephine Frytagg was a second and improved edition 
of her mother, even to the mouth ; there Nature 
careful of the type,” had given her’s still a greater 
^ pouch.’ She had the ‘bright black eyes, the full vol- 
uptuous form, with the addition of youth and grace, 
and she surpassed her “ma ma” in the rich carnation 
of her cheeks, as well as the gorgeousness of her 
attire. Now in just about the proportion that Miss 
outshone her mother, did Mr. J. G. Smythe outshine 
“the captain.” He was what is called a young 
“blood,” a fellow who spent his time busily doing 
nothing, and he was a person of consequence, not- 
withstanding the fact that, weighed and measured, 
(intellectually and morally) he came to nothing. He 
too had inherited the maternal mouth, but it did not 
matter in his case; a moustache would hide the 
pouch, and he . was very careful to cultivate his. 
His close shingled head might have been called rather 


W A N I T A . 


33 


too small (empty at present), but his body, agreeable 
to the law of compensation, ran into the opposite 
extreme. Still, when he “gothimslf up,” as he called 
it, he was apt to make a figure. He drove fast horses, 
and “by gad, scattered the tin,” (when he could get 
it,) and so stood pretty well with what he called his 
“set.” He was pretty stiff with the Captain, hardly 
ever condescended to anything like familiarity, and he 
generally treated his mother and sister with contempt — 
that class of men always does. But he tolerated what 
he called “the sex,” and was quite fond of the society 
of a certain Mrs. Myrtle, a fast married flirt, with 
whom his sister had a sort of intimacy. For strange 
as it may seem, such characters were tolerated in 
what was called “good society,” and this disgraceful 
flirtation gave Mr. J. G. Smythe a sort of reputation 
in town, which some fools even envied. This Mrs. 
Myrtle was a showy woman of an uncertain age, it 
was hard to guess her age through disguises ; she had 
a fair complexion, pale eyes, eye-brows and lashes, 
and a red suit of hair, (she called it golden, and Mr. 
J. G. Smythe carried a lock of it, or thought he did., as a 
love token). Her eye-brows she finished out with 
crayon, but the lashes kept their original hue. Mrs. 
Myrtle’s husband was a small faded man, who spent 
his dreary days behind his counter in a little second- 
class store; and was altogether what the aforesaid 
Margaret-pouch-mouth, of the Tyrol, would have 
called a “ nullity.” He knew very little of what went 
on in the great busy world outside, least of all the 
world in which his ‘golden-haired’ wife and Mr. J. G. 


34 


W A N I T A . 


Smythe Frytagg moved, so the flirtation was safe so 
far as he was concerned. This woman was to be 
seen anywhere and everywhere (almost) in C — , 
with Mr. J. G. Smythe dancing attendance. “By gad 
a stunning fine woman — blast my eyes ! — what is a 
man to do?” pompously exclaimed Mr. J. G. Smythe 
when the young ‘fellows about town,’ his associate 
“bloods,” bantered him upon his flirtation. 

Mr. Julius Brandon, in constantly passing to and 
fro through the city, visiting the vine-embowered 
house, had attracted the attention of at least one 
member of this pouch-mouth family. His way lay 
directly by their door, and Miss Josephine Frytagg 
frequently met him, quite accidentally, in his walk, 
and she still more frequently flashed her fine black 
eyes upon him (accidentally of course) from her par- 
lor window. And often as he walked back through 
the shadows of evening, her clear voice (not tremu- 
lous or timid, by any means), rather loud, but culti- 
vated, if wanting somewhat in softness, would follow 
him, clutching at him, as it were, as he mov^ed away. 
She sang many songs, and Mr. Julius could not 
choose but hear. Her voice, as Mr. Julius perceived, 
was very different from the soft, flute-like voice of 
Wanita, and the songs she sang were very different, 
too, from the melodies that floated on the perfumed 
air of the vine-embowered house. Wanita’s was a 
soft, melodious, haunting voice. Miss Josephine Fry- 
tagg’s was a voice that caught and held your ear per- 
force — articulate, unmistakable. 

Mr. Julius at last had the pleasure of an introduc- 


W A N I T A . 


35 


tion to Miss Frytagg. It happened in this way. Miss 
got up a picnic, one of those pleasant, social little 
affairs where ceremony is thrown aside and peo- 
ple enjoy themselves as they please, and she con- 
trived, through a mutual acquaintance, to get Mr. 
Julius invited. This acquaintance was Mr. Philip 
Crenshaw, Miss Frytagg’s knight-errant for the time 
being, engaged to her in fact, and would be her hus- 
band if none better offered. He was pretty well 
trained, and generally did the will of his charmer sat- 
isfactorily, even to the “ bringing round and intro- 
ducing to her any young man she might take a fancy 
to know. Mr. Crenshaw was “ a good fellow,” she 
said, “ and so very convenient.” 

Mr. Julius went to the picnic, having an idea that 
this shining young lady would be there. His curi- 
osity, and he was not deficient in that trait, was 
aroused. His vanity was tickled, too, at the evident 
admiration in the bright glances, easy to read, which 
Miss Frytagg had bestowed upon him. He knew 
that he had fixed her attention. 

Mr. Julius, the day of the picnic, was dressed with 
scrupulous neatness, and in perfect taste. He spent 
a longer time than usual that morning at his toilet, 
and when the important ceremony was completed, his 
appearance was satisfactory, even to his own fastid- 
ious taste. When he stood before the mirror, just 
before starting, and surveyed himself from head to 
foot, a self-satisfied smile curled his handsome lip. 
He was anxious to make an impression. 

Captain Frytagg and his family had inspired Mr. 


3 ^ 


W A N I T A . 


Julius with a great deal of respect. Mr. Julius occu- 
pied a false position himself^ but was, nevertheless, 
very much given to being deceived in others. He 
knew his own worthlessness, and that his pretensions 
were utterly without foundation, yet it never once 
entered his head to think that “ all is not gold that 
glitters/’ in the case of the Frytaggs. Everybody’s 
brass was gold to Mr. Julius except his own. 

Mrs. Frytagg and daughter were what Mr. Julius 
called very “ stylish ” ladies, and he thought this ac- 
quantance quite a feather in his cap. Mr. Crenshaw 
introduced him to the charmer (many a poor fellow 
has done the same thing), and generously waived his 
claim to the lady’s society that day. Miss Frytagg 
shone upon and dazzled Mr. Julius. What a delight- 
ful day he had ! Wanita was forgotten, or if thought 
of, how tame her gentleness, her modest demeanor, 
compared with all this glitter ! Mrs. Frytagg, too, 
beamed upon Mr. Julius. The Captain gave him a 
bow now and then, and Mr. J. G. Smythe unbent 
enough before the day was over to remark, “ Bran- 
don, I say old fellow, call round.” So Mr. Julius got 
an invitation to “ the house.” What a lucky fellow ! 


W A N I T A . 


37 


CHAPTER VII. 

A candid mien, a plausible tongue, 

A bearing calmly frank and fair; 

The tear (twould seem) by pity wrung, 

All these are his, but still, beware ! 

A something strange, false, unbegot, 

Of virtue, whispers, trust him not! 

But yesterday his mask (I know 

He wears one) for a moment’s space 
By chance dropped off, and swift below 
The smile, just waning on his face, 

I caught a look, flashed sudden, keen 
As lightning which he deemed unseen. 

Paul H. Hayne. 


Mr. Julius got an invitation to “the house.” It 
was perfectly easy and natural for him after that de- 
lightful day at the pic--nic, to call occasionally upon 
Miss Frytagg, as he passed, and these visits were very 
pleasant to both parties. Miss P'rytagg really ad- 
mired Mr. Julius, and he liked the sensations that 
being treated with such flattering attention called up. 

Mr. Julius Brandon loved Wanita in his way, and 
he pretended to love her a great deal more than he 
really did ; for a nature like his is incapable of a deep 
lasting affection. Yet he took a sort of pleasure in 
deceiving her. He never mentioned Miss Frytagg 
in her presence. Indeed, he was rather ashamed one 


38 


W A N I T A . 


day, when Wanita handed him a journal, a light pub- 
lication, which had the pouch-mouthed young lady’s 
name on it, and which contained a foolish love story 
pencil-marked. This journal he had accidentally left 
on Wanita’s table during one of his visits. The color 
rushed to his cheeks, and the frown came very near 
darkening his brow as he crushed it into his pocket. 

Habit had become second nature with Mr. Julius. 
He took a morbid pleasure in concealments. It was 
this that gave zest to his Frytagg flirtation. He 
played his double game for his own private amuse- 
ment. Wanita never once suspected him of being 
other than the noble, true man that he appeared to be 
No one talked more eloquently of principles ; no one 
could paint virtue in more attractive colors ; no one 
seemed more free from vice, more frank and true, than 
Mr. Julius Brandon. Wanita in her innocence, be- 
lieved in his sincerity and received his homage ; for, 
conscious of doing her a wrong, he sought to allay 
any suspicion that might arise, by a greater than 
usual of affection towards her. The fact is, Mr. 
Julius had lived in an atmosphere of deceit and un- 
truth so long, that his very ideas upon the subject 
were confused ; “ he followed falsity and thought it 
truth.” But perfect indeed niust be the dissimulation 
of a person who can always wear the mask. In 
Julius Brandon’s case it woidd, at intervals, for a brief 
space, drop ofT from him, and the man’s real soul look 
forth undisguised, draw the curtain, as it were, and 
look darkly, furtively forth, for one brief instant, be- 
traying in that look, 


W A N I T A . 


39 


“ Enough I think 
To smite the spirit cold and hot, 

By turns, and make one inly shrink 
From contact with a soul that keeps 
Such wild-fire smouldering in its deeps.” 


One evening Wanita was singing at the piano, Mr. 
Brandon standing near turning the music for her, and 
joining her in the song. At the close of the last stan- 
za, she turned suddenly from the piano and surprised 
that dark sinister look upon his face ; she was startled, 
troubled ; she arose from the piano to ask what was 
the matter, but the dark shadow was gone before the 
question was asked, and in its stead, the handsome, 
clear-cut face wore the blandest of smiles ! An ugly, 
wicked thought had flitted through his mind, and at 
an unguarded moment cast its shadow on his brow. 
Wanita remembered it, and she saw that same look flit 
over her lover’s face more than once in after times. 

Wanita was troubled. When Mr. Julius had bidden 
her goodnight with more than his accustomed show 
of tenderness, (he meant to call on Miss Frytagg on 
his way home) she still thought of that dark look. 
Her nature was too gentle and guileless to suspect 
evil ; she was too truthful and faithful to doubt, with- 
out very clear proof, the sincerity of her lover, but 
she did not understand that look; several little things 
puzzled her. Her mother and grandmother, when 
she joined them in the chamber of the latter, to bid 
them good night and receive the usual parting kiss, 
were struck by the expression of her face. She told 
them of the circumstance; how the look had startled 


40 


W A N I T A . 


her ; how it had gone in an instant ; she was uneasy. 
“ Was he well ? What could be the matter ? 
Mother or grandmother could give her no light. 

After she had left the room grandmother remarked : 

I don’t like it, daughter. I am afraid my first im- 
pression was correct. I noticed something strange, 
I spoke to you of it once, in his face before ; a dark 
•sinister look that makes me utterly distrust the man. 
Wanita has seen the same thing.” 

Mrs. Clifton’s cheek paled. What if they had been 
deceived ? “ Yet he appears so virtuous, so noble,” 

she said at last. 

■“ Yes, my dear, as I told you before, there is but 
one little word between a Judas and a John, sincerity y 
But seeing the look of utter distress on her daughter’s 
face, the old lady added, “ Our darling’s destiny is in 
God’s hands ; you know our pastor says, ‘nothing 
happens in this universe of God’s.’ The eye that 
marketh even the sparrows fall, will keep the inno- 
cent.” So, the dear old grandmother’s slumber was 
sweet that night, for her last thought was of the 
goodness and mercy of the God in whom she put her 
trust. 

“ Nothing happens in this universe of God’s.” 
Think of that, you wicked, treacherous man, plotting 
iniquity in secret. Remember, Haman built his gal- 
lows; Judas found the rope’s end. Make a long ac- 
count; God will settle it. “ Vengeance is mine, and I 
will repay it, saith the Lord.” If the histories of in- 
dividuals and of nations do not teach this lesson, (oh, 
how clearly ! ) they teach nothing. 


W A N I T A . 


41 


CHAPTER VIII. 


And still I wore her picture by my heart, 

And one dark tress, and all around them both 
Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about this Queen. 

Tennyson. 


Let US now glance at the affairs of Mr. Paul Thorn- 
ton in the distant city in the West. He worked 
away with his usual energy and tact, but do all that 

he could he was absent from C a weary time. 

It seemed very long to Mr. Paul. He had a young 

friend in C by the name of Joe Berkley, who 

wrote to him regularly, and kept him pretty well in- 
formed on all topics of interest. Mr. Thornton had 
once saved Joe’s life. He was playing with other 
lads by the river’s edge and fell in. He was about to- 
drown, when Mr. Thornton happened to pass that way,, 
and drew him, half dead, from the water. Joe from 
that day was the fast friend of Mr. Thornton, who 
came to regard him with affectionate interest, gave 
him a home in his house, (Joe was an orphan) where 
he occupied the position more of a younger brother 
than a friend. So Joe Berkley, while Mr. Thornton 
was gone, wrote to him regularly, never waiting for 
an answer, but telling everything that he thought 
would interest his benefactor. Joe was a giddy, rattle- 
brained youth, but affectionate and faithful, and he 


42 


W A N I T A . 


was bound to Paul Thornton by a tie that to a noble 
nature is indissoluble — gratitude. 

One evening, after a day of harrassing work, Mr. 
Thornton received a letter from Joe Berkley. He sat 
in his room under the mellow lamplight, reading it, 
smiling now and then at Joe’s droll nonsense. After 
telling a good deal of news, the letter ran thus : “And 
it is said that Miss Wanita Clifton, the prettiest girl in 
C , is to be married soon to a Mr. Julius Bran- 

don, a stranger here.” Paul started as if shot at. 
He crushed the letter in his hand, turned pale, 
“ Wanita to be married !” the letters swam before his 
eyes. He read no more, but sat there grave and op- 
pressed, thinking sadly. “ Nita Wanita, ask thy 
soul if we must part! and must we part my darling?” 
*Tis strange how the good seemed knocked out of 
everything to him by that paragraph in Joe’s letter. 
How cold and old the world looked to him that night. 
He had no heart to read; music, even music had lost 
its charm, his guitar lay untouched in its case. But 
he took the little picture out of his pocket and held it 
in the lamplight. With what a look of sadness he 
bent his large dark gray eyes upon it. “ O, my dar- 
ling,” he murmured, “ will I lose you after all !” But 
Joe might be mistaken, that idea suggested itself to 
to him. Sweet hope, “ the last of the saving angels,” 
would not go. 

Paul Thornton has an appointment for a deer hunt, 
with a few friends, the next day. It was to be a drive> 
for in the western country, where he was sojourning, 
there were good hunting grounds and plenty of large 


W A N I T A . 


43 


game to be found near many of the great inland 
towns. Mr. Thornton kept his appointment punctu- 
ally, He was at the rendezvous the next morning, 
fully equipped for the hunt, before sunrise. Not one 
of the merry party that joined him there had any 
reason to suspect that he had not slept the night be- 
fore. His strong, sound constitution could endure 
more than the loss of a night’s sleep without showing 
signs of it. He talked and listened to the others 
like a real hunter. He entered into the sport with 
zest. He would not succumb to sorrow. He would 
not hang out its pale banner, but appeared cheerful 
among the rest. 

In placing the hunters at their different stands, the 
old son of Nimrod, who had matters in charge, placed 
Paul Thornton in a clump of canes, under a large cot- 
tonwood tree that grew close to the banks of a creek. 
This position commanded a view of a path that led 
down to the creek, and afforded concealment for the 
hunter ; so Mr. Paul would probably get a shot. The 
other hunters were placed as advantageously as pos- 
sible, in various parts of the wood. Mr. Paul stood 
there under the thick, dewy shade of the old cotton- 
wood tree, silently holding his ready cocked gun in 
his hand, a watchful hunter to all appearances ; but, 
alas, his thoughts were other-where. 

The odor of the honeysuckles shading the quiet 
porch ; the light, the shade, falling around a distant 
dwelling. The graceful girlish form, and fair, fair 
face of the maiden ; her low, haunting voice, all these 
were present with him, and an aching sorrow tugging 


44 


W A N I T A . 


at his heart. Over the young hunter’s face, swept 
the soft shadow of love and regret. 

“ Was it not well to speak, 

To have spoken once, it could not but be well.” 

Ah, what cause he had for sorrow. He was wrapt 
in a mournful revery. But hark ! what sound was 
that ? He is wide awake in an instant. The bushes 
crack, the reeds rustle, and behold, a stately denizen 
of the forest, a large, beautiful buck is approaching 
the creek to drink. Its head is erect ; its branching 
antlers rising above its brow; its large beautiful eyes, 
wide open, glancing from side to side, as it pauses 
from time to time to listen. It is a noble sight. The 
buck is near him now ; a splendid shot. No, he 
will wait until it drinks. Its slender feet are already 
in the water’s edge. 

He raises his gun, is just glancing along the barrel, 
when crash ! What is that ? Horrors ! The deer 
leaps wildly into the air ; something has fallen, quick 
as lightning from among the overhanging limbs of 
cottonwood tree, at the trunk of which Paul stands. 
It has fallen upon the shoulders of the deer, and, as 
he gazes spell-bound, the deer struggles and falls. 
It is a huge panther — an American lion, and it 
is tearing the throat and drinking the blood of its 
victim. 

So intent is the panther upon its bloody repast, 
that it does not notice the hunter. 

Paul Thornton looks to his pistols, his long, sharp 
hunting knife, then levels his gun at the panther’s 


W A N I T A . 


45 


breast and fires. A dead shot that, for the panther 
rolls over, struggles a few moments and is dead. 

The shot is the signal for his companions to come, 
and several of them are soon there. With lifted hands 
and wide open eyes, they express their astonishment. 

On looking around, they discover that the panther, 
in its furious rage while tearing the throat of the deer, 
had thrown shreds of bloody flesh on the bushes and 
canes for fifteen or twenty feet around. 

With their bright hunting knives, some of the hunt- 
ers soon divested the panther of his skin, which was 
given to Paul as a trophy. Others busied themselves 
with taking care of the venison. 

Several other deer were killed that day, but the 
slaying of a panther — a huge fellow, measuring ten 
feet from nose to tail tip, was an unusual event, even 
in this fine game country. 

It was night when the hunters got back. The 
night was dark, but the deep woods were illumined 
by millions of fire-flies. Bridges were crossed and 
paths followed by the light of these little insects. 

The hunt was a nine days wonder in the city of 
M . 


46 


\V A N I T A . 


I 


CHAPTER IX. 


“ The sin 

That neither God nor man can well forgive, 

Hypocricy.” 

“ A false friend is like a broken tooth, or a foot out of joint.” 

It was the first of September, twelve o’clock at 
night — a calm, still starry night — when the hoarse 
cry of “ Fire ! fire! fire!” rang through the quiet 

city of C , startling its sleeping inhabitants. All 

that section of the city where the fife had broken out 
was quickly aroused. A vivid glare lit up the heav- 
ens. Wanita and her mother, hearing the cry, threw 
open a window and looked out. Now, the bells were 
ringing fiercely, and the dull rumbling of the engines 
running over the stony streets, added their noise to 
the tumult and to the roar of the flames. Mr. Clifton 
was absent from home on a visit to his brother, who 
lived some twenty miles in the country, so these 
timid, frightened women watched the fire alone. They 
knew by the direction of the light that it was in the 
business part of the city. It might be that the store 
and warehouse of Mr. Clifton were involved in the 
ruin. Higher ! higher ! higher ! arose the flames. 
The volume of dun smoke rolling far above, lit up by 
the red glare of the flames, made a fearful picture. 
The calm stars were blotted out, the fierce firefiend 
seemed to have swept them from their thrones. These 


W A N I T A . 


47 


women watched alone until the flames died down, the 
smoke, “ like the wings of some strange bird ” — some 
gigantic bird of ill omen — floated towards the south, 
where it hung like a pall, and only a dull red glare 
reflected from the glowing embers, showed like a 
dreary dawn against the sky. The fair morning star 
hung bright and beautiful in the east, and silence 
again folded its wings over the city, before Wanita 
and her mother slept. 

The papers of the next morning stated that the fire 
originated in the dry goods store of Mr. Abell, which 
was entirely consumed — nothing saved, and it was a 
matter of regret that there was no insurance. The 
losses of other parties were considerable ; several 
houses were consumed. The fire was with difficulty 
subdued, though the fire department did its duty nobly. 

While Wanita, the very hour, perhaps, was read- 
ing this paragraph to her mother and grandmother, 
and expressing deep sympathy for the unfortunate 
losers, Mr. Julius Brandon sat at his desk in the 
counting-room of Worth & Co., and, with strained 
attention and intense interest, listened to a conversa- 
tion going on in the adjoining room between Mr. 
Worth, the senior partner, and a stranger. Mr. Ju- 
lius, listen as he would, could only catch snatches of 
the conversation. 

“ No insurance !” said Mr. Worth. “ I am aston- 
ished that Abell neglected it. And all his goods 
bought on credit, too ? ” 

“ I am sorry that Clifton is involved in it. He is 
security for the whole amount,” replied the stranger. 


48 


W A N I T A . 


“ You don’t say so ! What a pity ! ” 

“ Yes, and he will have to pay the last red cent of 
it. It will ruin him.^^ 

“ Why, is Abell worth nothing? ” 

“ Almost nothing, and you see the sum is large. It 
will ruin Clifton. He won’t have a penny left. I am 
surprised at his putting his name to such a paper. But 
he is so reckless.’’ 

“ Well, this is a double lesson.” 

As this conversation went on, Mr. Brandon’s eyes 
narrowed and his face darkened. “ Ha!” thought he, 
“ Mr. Clifton ruined 1 Have to pay the last cent. 
All that wealth gone like a dream ! Hard poverty, 
labor, want ! ” 

Wanita looked in vain for Mr. Julius Brandon that 
evening. He staid at home. He said not one word 
to any one, of the conversation he had overheard; but 
he lay awake that night, troubled in his thoughts. 
“ Wanita penniless — Mr. Clifton ruined.” Mrs. Bran- 
don knew whereof she talked when she said her son 
would never marry a poor girl. “ So Wanita has 
only her beauty and sweetness for dower at last.” 
It did not suit Mr. Julius. He must have money. So 
he lay awake and thought. He went to his store 
again the next morning, and home again, and for 
many mornings and evenings he did not turn his 
steps towards the vine-embowered house. Wanita 
thought that he was busy, perhaps ill. So she ex- 
cused him. She could not choose but be troubled. 
Days went by. It was two weeks since she had seen 
anything of Mr. Julius. 


W A N I T A . 


49 


“He must be sick, mother ; can’t you send and 
see ? she said. 

So Kitty, the maid, was dispatched, with a present 
of fresh fruit for Mrs. Brandon, and bidden to inquire 
after the health of the family. 

“ Much obliged, and all well, ma’am, reported 
Kitty, on her return. 

“ Did you see Mr. Brandon ? ” asked grandmother. 

“ Met him, ma’am, as I came back, walking with 
Miss Frytagg.’’ 

“ Miss what?” 

“ Miss Frytagg, ma'am ; the tall young lady with 
black eyes — Captain Frytagg’s daughter.’’ 

“Hurnph!” Grandmother turned to Wanita : 
“ Come here, my child.” Wanita sat down, pale and 
trembling, at her feet. 

“ What does it mean, grandmother ? ’’ 

The old lady clasped her darling to her faithful 
breast, and with her faded lips, murmured : 

“Judas, my dear!’’ so softly, in such low tones, 
that Wanita, with her head on her grandmother’s arm, 
failed to catch the first part of the sentence, and only 
heard the last words — “ my dear.” 

Days and weeks went by, and still nothing of Mr. 
Julius. Wanita’s gentle, faithful heart was troubled. 
If she only knew exactly how he felt. She feared 
she had unintentionally wounded his feelings. She 
wished to do right. She was too truthful and pure 
herself to deal harshly with any one. She wished 
to be sure that she was right. The thought that he 
was false forced itself upon her, and it wounded her. 
3 


50 


W A N I T A . 


In the meanwhile there were high times at Captain 
Frytagg’s house. They had evening parties, and Mr. 
Julius graced them with his presence. They had din- 
ners, and he was there. The first evening party that 
Mr. Julius attended at Captain Frytagg’s mansion, he 
was rather surprised at the company he met there. 
He felt like Faust did, perhaps, at the witches’ ball. 
But this wore off ; if they were not so refined and in- 
telligent as one could wish, they were free and easy, 
the people whose acquaintance he made. Mrs. Myr- 
tle was there in all her glory, and kept Mr. J. G. 
Smythe Frytagg in the seventh heaven of her smiles 
the whole evening. Miss Frytagg, on this occasion, 
was dressed with exceeding richness. Her black- 
banded hair fairly blazed with jewels. Mr. Julius was 
not a judge of jewels. Her rich satin dress, if it was 
made rather low in the bosom, made ample amends 
in the trail; then. Miss Fiytogg had a handsome 
bosom. Mr. Julius was enchanted, after the first 
little shock was over. Miss Frytagg was particularly 
condescending to him too ; she danced (waltzed) oft- 
ener with him than with any one else, and her fine 
black eyes followed him when he was not at her side. 
Mr. Julius was intoxicated; he plunged into this gay 
life with heart and soul ; he had only dreamed of 
pleasure before. 

But then, the image of Wanita would haunt him 
when he was alone — “ In the dead unhappy night, and 
when the rain was on the roof.” He would feel a 
sort of remorse at his conduct ; uneasy too, was he, 
not knowing exactly what course the injured fimily 


W A N I T A . 


51 


might take ; what views Mr. Clifton might have upon 
the subject. It was this, rather than any regret for 
the wrong he had done, which troubled Mr. Julius. 

But I can't marry a poor girl,” was always Mr. 
Julius Brandon’s last thought, “ I am obliged to have 
money.” It never once struck his mind that there 
are things (the best) which gold cannot buy ; realities 
in this universe of God’s which have no equivalent in 
value in gold or dross, diamonds or dust. My young 
gentleman did not remember, perhaps he never knew, 
that happiness, the aim and object of all human life, 
can only be reached through virtue and truth. He 
did not think that it is one of the good, equitable, 
beautiful (and as immutable as the law of Kepler !) 
arrangements in this universe ; that in exact propor- 
tion that man is just and true and unselfish in his in- 
tercourse with others, he is happy himself. And we 
hold that the noblest intellectual culture, and the 
purest intellectual pleasures are reserved, on this same 
principle of law and justice, for those who are loyal 
to TRUTH. So, in seeking the good of those around 
us, we reach the highest good for our own souls. 
But these were not the thoughts of Mr. Julius Bran- 
don. He was a traitor and a villain at heart; he 
only needed temptation, opportunity, to show his 
colors, but he now wore a pretty mask — the mask of 
virtue. 

Mr. Julius said nothing of the conversation which 
he had overheard, and which was exercising such an 
influence over his actions. Old Mr. Worth came 
rarely to the store ; the stranger was gone, but Mr. 


52 


W A N I T A . 


Julius thought constantly of the conversation : “ Mr. 

Clifton ruined ; would have every cent to pay ! ” 

One evening, as Mr. Julius sat in confidential con- 
versation with Miss Frytagg, in her gorgeously fur- 
nished parlor, she rallied him upon the report of his 
engagement to Miss Clifton. Mr. Julius denied it 
promptly and added : 

By the way, do you know that Mr. Clifton is finan- 
cially ruined ; ruined by a security debt? He was 
security for Mr. Abell, and it will break him up. 
I only mention this to j'ouj' Flatteringly confiden- 
tial. That was enough. The report was soon travel- 
ing around, in an underground sort of way, doing all 
the harm (and good) that it could do. 

When Mr. Clifton returned from his visit to his 
brother, and heard from his wife how Mr. Julius was 
acting, The sneaking puppy,” he cried, with flushed 
cheek and flashing eye. But Mrs. Clifton laid her 
finger on his lip : 

No, John. He may have been misled; some 
gossipping, false tongue may have misled him. We 
must suspend our judgment until we know more. 
May I ask an explanation ? ” 

“ Do as you like, Mary ; but — ” 

Wanita entering the room at that moment, the 
sentence was cut short. Mr. Clifton took his hat and 
went out. He was indignant, disgusted at Mr. Julius’ 
unmanly conduct, but he thought of what his wife 
said : “ Some gossip may have misled him.” “ If he 
is a villain, it is a God-send to be rid of him.’^ 

Mr. Clifton knew nothing of the rumor that was 


W A N I T A . 


53 


being circulated concerning his financial situation ; 
the truth of the matter being that his finances had 
never been in a more flourishing condition than they 
were at that time. The rumor was mostly confined 
to the circle in which the Frytaggs moved, so Mr. 
Clifton and family stood little chance of hearing it. 
The Clifton mentioned to Mr. Worth, by the stranger, 
was a brother-in-law of Mr. Abell. Clifton Gray, and 
was entirely unknown to Wanita’s father; so it was a 
mistake all round. 

Wanita missed Mr. Julius. Her feelings were hurt, 
too, at his heartless conduct. She did not understand 
him, so she would not entirely condemn. But she 
took more to her reading, which had been rather 
neglected in Mr. Julius’s time. Her music, her 
flowers, her work, but most of all the sweet compan- 
ionship of her mother and grandmother, helped her 
over the time. 

This tender creature was sorry ; she did not like 
to believe that Mr. Julius was thoroughly unworthy, 
or to judge him harshly. Truly “ a false friend is 
like a broken tooth or a foot out of joint ” — a source of 
constant pain and annoyance. Her sweet, young face 
wore a look, sometimes, of tender sadness that her 
old grandmother could not bear to see. But grand- 
mother had made up her diagnosis of the case. 

He is a villain,” she .said, “ and it is the working 
of Providence, this separating him from our darling’s 
destiny. We can’t see plainly, now^ why it is best, 
but wait awhile, and we may have reason to thank 
God for it.” 


54 


W A N I T A . 


“ Wanita must go and stay a few weeks with her 
Uncle William and Aunt Ann/’ said Mrs. Clifton, 
“ she has promised the visit a long time.” 

Grandmother readily agreed to the plan. “ She 
will quit thinking of this Judas all the sooner,” she 
replied, “ for a change of scene. No woman can care 
long for a false-hearted scamp like this , and it is 
better to be wounded in her feelings now, than to 
suffer a life-long sorrow by being married to one so 
unworthy. I know we ought to be thankful that he 
has shown his colors in time.” 


W A N I T A . 


55 


CHAPTER X. 


‘‘ Good men have said 
That sometimes God leaves sinners to their sin j 
He has left me to mine, and I am changed j 
My worse part is insurgent, and my will 
Is weak and powerless as a trembling king 
When millions rise up hungry.” 

Mrs. Brandon had heard the report about Mr. Clif- 
ton’s financial ruin. She had not seen Mrs. Clifton or 
Wanita for some time. Mr. Julius never mentioned 
their names now. She no longer suspected him of 
visiting the vine-embowered house. 

“ I told you Julius would never marry a poor girl,” 
she remarked, in talking it over with Miss Magg, j 
am sorry for Mrs. Clifton and Wanita, though. They 
will lose everything! ” 

Her looks and tone of voice contradicted her words, 
“ Julius will never marry a poor girl, you may rest as- 
sured.” She looked and spoke quite cheerfully. 

“You ought to be sorry, you and Julius,” replied 
Miss Magg, bluntly. Her sister’s tone displeased 
her. “ You are under peculiar obligations to Mr. 
Clifton and his family.” 

“ Yes, I said I was sorry. ” 

“Julius came very near dying there last Spring, 
and they helped you to nurse him ; treated you both 
so kindly, and you only strangers. ” 

“I don’t need to be reminded of that; I a7n 


56 


W A N I T A . 


sure I am sorry for their losses ; but Julius ought not 
to marry while I am alive.” 

Mrs. Brandon knew nothing, as yet, of the Frytagg 
flirtation. Mr. Julius, as usual, kept his own council, 
so she was as happy as a few pecadilloes and the secret 
would let her be. 

One day, Wanita and her mother met Mr. Julius 
face to face on the street. He hurried by, casting 
upon them a furtive, embarrassed, guilty look as he 
passed. Mrs. Clifton glanced at Wanita to see what 
effect this had upon her. The always gentle girl 
walked proudly at her mother’s side ; a slight smile 
of scorn curled her pretty red lip. “Poor fellow!” 
was her reply to her mother’s glance. 

Wanita, slighted, wronged ; pride, maidenly dignity 
had come to the rescue, and she was likely to look 
upon him with the contempt which he so richly de- 
served. Thus, Mr. Julius bade good-bye to the pure, 
noble friends whose respect and regard he might 
have held ; to the one ennobling influence that might 
have lifted his craven nature out of its atmosphere of 
falsehood and shame. 

As Wanita sat alone in her pleasant chamber that 
night, she thought it all over, calmly, seriously. “I 
have tried to do right,” she murmured at last, as she 
put his image from her mind ; “ poor fellow ! ” 

So that was the best she could say for him, and 
what true, noble woman, ever loved a poor fellow 
long ? 

Wanita had no idea why Mr. Julius had deserted 
her ; acted in this shameful unmanly way. She had 


W A N I T A . 


57 


seen him riding and walking with the dazzling Miss 
Frytagg, so she thought he was fickle, perhaps. At 
any rate, “ poor fellow,” she kjiezv he was un- 
zvorthy. 

The day after VVanita and her mother met Mr. 
Julius on the street, it chanced that her uncle, Mr. 

William Clifton, came to C , and asked for her to go 

home with him. Her parents and grandmother will- 
ingly consented. When she was about starting, she 
gave Mrs. Clifton the ring : 

“ Mother, please return this to Mr. Brandon as 
soon as you can. ” 

Mrs. Clifton took the ring, and sent a note to Mr. 
Brandon requesting him to call at his earliest conven- 
ience. 

Mr. Julius would have liked to have sneaked out of 
going. He was ashamed ; uneasy. How could he 
look Mrs. Clifton in the face? But he at length con- 
cluded to go. He chose to present himself at an hour 
in the forenoon when he knew that Mr. Clifton would 
be absent at his business house. Mrs. Clifton met 
him at the door. He had on his best look, his bland- 
est smile. It is barely possible that he felt some self- 
scorn on entering this house, where he had been 
treated with so much kindness ; received, a stranger, 
sick, helpless. Perhaps he felt some little qualms of 
conscience, too, as he looked into the gentle face of 
his friend; that face which had paled with pity for 
him when he was friendless and sick ; or did he think 
of a certain character in history who won an unenvi- 
able notoriety some eighteen hundred years ago, and 


58 


W A N I T A . 


whose name is associated with certain “thirty pieces 
of silver ” and a rope’s end, ever since? We don’t 
pretend to know what Mr. Julius thought, but we do 
know that after the first word or two had been ex- 
changed, he was ill at ease; something very, unusual 
with him. Mrs. Clifton was a plain straight-forward 
woman, so, giving him the ring, she said simply : 

“ Under the circumstances, Wanita and I have con- 
cluded that it is best that this should be returned. I 
do not wish to do you injustice, and any explanation 
you may see proper to make will be listened to.” 

Mr. Julius had changed color several times while 
she was speaking. After an embarrassed silence, he 
muttered a few sentences, not clear by any means, 
about “ mother,” “ a mystery,” and “ my regret.” 

“ I hope,” said Mrs. Clifton, with a touch of scorn, 
“ when you find other friends, you will try candor 
and sincerity with them ; I particularly recommend 
sincerity as the crowning charm of friendship ; and 
now I think that good-bye is the best and only word 
that remains to be spoken.” 

But Mr. Julius, true to his instincts, still declared 
that though his conduct had changed, his feelingshdid 
not. He took the whining key. He was more 
sinned against than sinning. He wished, as usual, to 
shift the shame and the blame upon his mother. Mrs. 
Clifton was thoroughly disgusted, and rejoiced that all 
connection with such a man was at an end. She was 
yet to find still better reasons for rejoicing. 

And so they parted. Mr. Julius took the ring and 
went his ways in the sunshine. He was free; he had 


W A N I T A . 


59 


the ring in his hand, yet he was not quite pleased. He 
had noticed the little smile of quiet scorn onWanita’s 
face when he met her; she did not seem to be break- 
ing her heart about him. His vanity was touched. 
There was scorn, too, in the looks and words of gen- 
tle Mrs. Clifton. He felt resentful and angry towards 
her. It is said that we always hate whom we injure. 
He felt, too, as if she was reading him all the time he 
was in her presence. He ground his teeth in rage. 
Then, everything looked just the same at the vine- 
embowered house ; no signs of approaching poverty. 
He remembered that he had watched the columns of 
the city papers in vain, for the advertisement of Mr. 
Clifton’s property for sale. He had worked himself 
into a very uncomfortable state of mind, and went to- 
wards home very sour and narrow-eyed. He felt ag- 
grieved. As if misfortunes could not come singly, he 
stopped at Mr. Worth’s store (he had left the employ- 
ment before) a moment, and there he heard a flat 
contradiction, from Mr. Worth himself, of the rumor 
about Mr. Clifton’s financial ruin. 

“ Why, there is not a sounder man in C !” cried 

Mr. Worth. “ Clifton’s bond is as good as gold, and 
his word is as good as his bond ! I can’t imagine 
how such a foolish tale ever got started.” 

That night Mr. Julius quarrelled with his mother; 
threatened to leave her; took a heavy dose from the 
little vial, his usual resort from trouble, and his wor- 
ried, impatient mother sat up half the night, watching 
by his bed-side. 

So you are getting entangled in a net of your own 


6o 


W A N I T A . 


weaving, are you, Mr. Julius ? And there is plenty 
more of the same sort, and worse, in store for you, if 
you do not “ turn from your evil way.” The rumor 
which you yourself started on its errand, is doing 
part of its work for j'ou. 



W A N I T A . 


6l 


CHAPTER XL 

There’s something, but ’what I can scarce divine, 

Perhaps ’tis the breath, like a potent wine, 

Of the cordial clear October, 

Which makes, when the jovial tnonth comes round. 

The life-blood bloom and the pulses bound, 

And the soul spring forth like a monarch crowned, 

God’s grace on the brave October! 

Paul H. Havne. 

It was “ the prince of the months, October.” Wan- 
ita was with her aunt and uncle in the country. She 
thoroughly enjoyed the life she led there. Every- 
thing interested her. She was never tired of the 
sights and sounds around her. Her little cousin, 
Willie, was her constant companion. He did so de- 
light in showing her around the farm. Every living 
creature received a share of their attention ; the cows, 
the sheep, the goats, the pigs, the poultry, but most 
of all, the horses. Many a mad gallop did they have 
together through the shady country roads ; for Willie 
like most boys reared on a farm, was a fine equestrian, 
and Wanita had early learned to ride. So her letters 
home were full of sweet cheerfulness. How the birds 
sang all day and all night ; how many wild-flowers, 
many of them new to her, she found in the pleasant 
woods and fields, and “ Mamma, I think the very 
clouds look lovelier here than in the city.” Sweet 
Wanita ! may all her clouds have silver linings, her 
sorrows turn out to be blessings. 


62 


W A N I T A . 


One day, little Willie came running in greatly ex- 
cited, with something hugged up in his arms. He 
deposited it at his cousin’s feet : 

“Oh, Nita, just look what I have got ! ” 

A little shuddering, squirming puppy, a soft, pulpy 
looking thing, Wanita stooped to touch its velvetly 
little head. 

“You may take it up in your arms, Wanita,’’ said 
little Will, with a patronizing air, “ but don’t squeeze 
it ; I would not have it squeezed for the world. I 
gave old uncle Tom a dollar for it, and there are only 
four more for any body else to get.’’ 

“ Is it a hound dog, Willie ? ’’ said Wanita. Willie 
drew himself up with dignity : 

“ Why, Wanita, don’t you know a pointer any bet- 
ter than that? It has fine blood, I can tell you. 
John Terry wanted this one, but uncle Tom said he 
saved it for me, because he lives on our land, you 
know, and father is good to him ; he says he likes to 
give choice to his own white folks.” 

But Aunt Ann soon banished it to the back yard, 
whither Willie betook himself to keep it company 
until his cousin should call him to go to ride with 
her. 

“ Uncle ’’ Tom, spoken of by Willie, was an old 
negro who usually tended the garden, and did odd 
jobs for Mr. Clifton. 

Wanita’s room in her uncle’s house was the neatest, 
cosiest little nest of a place that can be imagined, and 
there she slept through the sweet October nights, the 
balmiest slumbers of youth and innocence. The 


W A N I T A . 


63 


roses brightened on her cheeks ; she was the picture 
of blooming health. Sometimes she would sit by the 
low window, opening into a perfect greenery of vine 
and leafy bough, for the October v/eather had not yet 
changed many of the leaves, only a tuft now and 
then, was touched with gold or red ; and as she look- 
ed out, the birds would sing close to her, not afraid. 
All gentle creatures seemed to love and trust her. 

Often would her thoughts, during these mellow 
leisure days, Vv^ander away to the distant city, and to 
the noble friend whom she had known, Does my 
old friend remember me ? ’’ There was a soft sadness 
in her heart at such times; no bitterness or gloom. 
The ‘^poor fellow,” too, sometimes flitted before her, 
but she hastened to think of something else ; there 
was no pleasure in her memory of him ; only a little 
scorn, and the soft-hearted girl did not like to feel 
scorn for any living creature. 

“ Wanita, Wanita, come here quick ! ’’ called little 
Will, one bright soft morning, “ I am going fishing ; 
I have got the finest lot of bait, and I know the fish 
will bite.” 

Wanita was with him in an instant, her hat on, 
ready to accompany him. 

What is that you have in the bottle, Willie ?” 
asked Wanita, as they walked along the shady path 
towards the river. Willie emptied part of the con- 
tents of the bottle into his little sunburnt hand, and 
held it towards her. She started back : 

“ Bait, of course, ” said Willie, laughing at her look 
of surprise, and putting his worms back into the bot- 


64 


W A N I T A . 


tie. “ We put these on the hook, Nita, for the fish to 
bite so that we can catch ’em.” 

“ Yes, Willie, I know, but don’t you think it hurts 
them?” Willie turned his great, honest blue eyes 
up to her face : 

“/will put yours on yoiir hook for you, cousin ? 
Girls are more tender hearted than boys any how ; 
but every body fishes with them here.” When they 
get to the bank of the river Willie prepared to bait a 
hook for his cousm. 

“ Never mind, Willie, I will gather a pretty bouquet 
of wild flowers, and wait for you while you fish.” 
She did not like the thought of torturing a worm ; 
Willie understood : 

“All right,” he answered, and was himself soon in 
the fisherman’s seventh heaven, a fish dangling at the 
■end of his line. 

“ Look ! look what a beauty ! ” he called to his 
cousin. After that, his “ luck ” fish as he called it, 
Willie caught several nice ones. Wanita gathered 
flowers and berries along the river banks; she found 
the wake-robin growing in abundance in the rich 
loamy soil, but it was not in bloom. She gathered a 
number of the pretty bright red clusters of its seeds 
to mingle with her flowers. She heard sweet, strange 
birds singing, too, and a flock of wild ducks flew near 
enough for her to see the color of their plumage. 

“ Come here, cousin, I have an eel.” cried Willie. 
She ran to him, strewing her flowers as she went, and 
sure enough, the ugly snaky looking thing was 
sqirming on the bank, fast to the hook. 


W A N I T A . 


65 


‘‘ Hold the pole, Wanita, while I take it off.” 
Wanita did as she was directed, holding the pole as 
far off as she could. 

How much like a snake it looks ; are you afraid 
of it, Willie?” 

“ Of course not,” and taking a little sand in each 
hand, he boldly caught hold of the eel and soon trans- 
ferred it to his “ string.” 

“ Why do you take sand in your hands ? ” said 
Wanita. 

“ Did you never hear how slick an eel is ? I 
couldn’t hold it without the sand.” 

Willie was very proud of his eel, and willing to 
quit for that day ; so he gathered up his fishing- 
tackle and string of fish, and Wanita her scattered 
ferns and flowers, and away, up the shady path, 
through the fragrant woodland, they strolled home- 
wards, where they arrived at mid-day, hungry andi 
tired, ready to do justice to the nicely-furnished din- 
ner table and ripe fresh fruit that awaited them. 

That afternoon was spent by Wanita and Willie in 
making harness for a pair of beautiful white goats 
Willie’s father had given him. He told Wanita she 
should have the one he called “ Tom,” and he would 
have Billy.” They made the harness of strips of 
strong homespun which Willie’s mother gave them. 
The goats were so gentle that it was no trouble to fit 
the harness. Uncle Tom gave them a pair of bridles 
for their team. It was late in the afternoon before 
the work was done, and Willie had the pleasure of 
hitching his goats to his little wagon. But the goats 


66 


W A N 1 T A . 


did not know how to work, and ran so fast with the 
empty wagon that Willie was flushed and tired keep- 
ing up with them. 

“ Why don’t you ride, Willie? said Wanita, who 
looked on interested. 

“ I don’t want to balk them, Nita,” he replied, “ If 
I work them gently at first and don’t overload them, 
they will soon pull well, and then I can take you to 
ride.” 

“ Much obliged little coz.” 

The beautiful forest trees were beginning to drop 
their many-colored leaves before Wanita bade her 
kind uncle and aunt and her dear little cousin good- 
bye, to return to her father’s house. Her relatives 
were very loth to give her up, but she said : 

“ Dear grandmother is lonely these long Autumn 
evenings, and mother writes that father complains 
that the house is too quiet while I am away. I know 
they miss me, and delightful as has been my visit, 
dear friends, I long for home.” 

These were arguments against which they could 
say nothing. Willie bore up manfully until the last 
moment. He was very fond of his cousin and had 
enjoyed her visit wonderfully. It was hard to give 
her up. When she took his little brown hand in hers 
and stooped to kiss him good-bye, he could not 
stand it; he burst into tears and hung around her 
neck, crying like his heart would break. His father 
at last comforted him by promising that he should go 
in a month to see his cousin, and she supplemented 
that promise with one of coming back next Spring. 


W A N I T A . 


6 ; 


In the mean time, Willie must spend Christmas with 
her, of course ; he always did that. “ And you must 
take good care of our goats, Willie ; you know you 
are to take me to ride when I come back ; and my 
kitten, you must keep it for me,” said Wanita. So 
. the little fellow, he was only seven years old, dried 
his tears and was partially reconciled to his loss. 

But he was lonely; he missed his cousin sadly. 
No one took the interest in his amusements that she 
had taken, and he counted the days until his father 
should take him to the city. 


68 


W A N I T A . 


CHAPTER XIL 

Please ma’m, let me go this afternoon, to see my 
sister ?” said little Kitty to Mrs. Clifton, about a 

month after the fire in C . “ She is working at 

Captain Frytagg’s, and it is not far.” 

“ Go, but be back by sundown.” 

So the little maid went. She staid all the after- 
noon, but at sundown she was back again. Mrs. Clif- 
ton noticed that she looked troubled : 

“ Kitty, is your sister well ?” 

“ Yes ma’m, thank you.” 

“ I hope you had a nice visit. There is nothing the 
matter, is there ?” 

“ Oh ! ma’m,” replied Kitty, the tears starting to 
her eyes, “ I hope you are not going to go away, to 
sell this house ?” 

“ What do you mean, Kitty ? Assuredly I am not 
going away. What do you mean ?” 

“ I heard Miss Frytagg talking in the dining-room 
this afternoon, and she said you were going to give 
up this house, and that Mr. Clifton was broke, and — ” 
Kitty paused. 

“Why Kitty, Miss Frytagg knows nothing about 
us ; how could she say such things ?” 

“ O !” said Kitty, “she said Mr. Julius Brandon 
told her that Mr. Clifton was broke ; that he stood 
security for Mr. Abell, and would have to pay ever so 


W A N I T A . 69 

much ; and she wants her pa to buy this house, be- 
cause. she says, Mr. Brandon likes it,” 

“Don’t be troubled, Kitty; we are not going to 
move. The house is not for sale.’’ 

“ O ! ma’m, I am so glad !” and she ran off to pre- 
pare the table for tea. 

Kitty loved her kind mistress and master, and Miss 
Frytagg’s talk had distressed her greatly. 

Mrs. Clifton was astonished. “ Mr. Julius told it !” 
and since she thought of it, Mr. Julius had not been 
to the house since the fire, (except to get the ring.) 
She began to see into matters. Kitty was a truthful, 
reliable girl ; Mrs. Clifton knew that she had told the 
truth. The more she thought of it, the clearer it be- 
came to her. She began to understand Mr. Julius \ 
so the rumor he had started was doing its work still. 
She went to her aged mother-in-law, and repeated 
what she had heard. When she had finished, the old 
eyes glistened, and the SAveet, tremulous voice of 
good grandmother said : 

“ My dear daughter, thank God on your bended 
knees for the great escape for our darling.” 

This happened while Wanka Avas at her uncle’s ; a 
short time after the ring had been returned. 

Miss Frytagg was prompted more by vanity than 
anything else, to repeat the gossip that Mr. Julius 
had confided to her. She knew, too, that Kitty Avas 
maid to Mrs. Clifton, and she was in the habit of talk- 
ing, bragging to the servants. She talked before 
Kitty on purpose that she might repeat it, when she 
Avent home. Miss Frytagg felt a .spite towards Wan- 


70 


W A N I T A . 


ita, on account of Mr. Julius’ former attentions, and 
took this means of gratifying it. She was very vain 
of Mr. Julius’ attentions, and liked to let others know 
how familiar, how confidential he was with her. 

“ Mr. Bandon told me.’^ “ Mr. Brandon says.” 

Mr. Brandon thinks the Clifton place would suit us. 
I want papa to buy it.” While she knew — none 
better — that her papa ” was not worth a copper. 

The same sort of vanity prompted her to tell her 
friends that her paste jewels cost fabulous sums. 

Miss Frytagg liked Mr. Julius; was vain of such a 
handsome beau, and did everything she could to en- 
courage him. Indeed, she rather overdid the matter 
in this particular. She jilted the milk and cider “ con- 
venient ” young man, Mr. Philip Crenshaw, to whom 
she had been engaged for some time, (as a sort of re- 
serve), and Miss Pouch-mouth was rather impatient 
with Mr. Julius Brandon’s dilatory behavior, in not 
coming to the point. Indeed, she was provoked and 
fretted a good deal one way and another. 

The manner in which Mr. Phillip Crenshaw con- 
ducted himself after he was jilted, tended to make her 
put out her mouth in protest, and as an expression of 
justifiable indignation. Instead of 

“ Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad. 

Made to his mistress eye-brow.” 

Like a genuine, disappointed lover, that young fel- 
low chose to dash about town, in a most impudent, 
reckless manner. He devoted himself to any and all 
the girls he knew, and now and then even threw dust 


W A N I T A . 


71 


in Miss Frytagg’s face as he dashed by, driving a pair 
of fast livery stable horses, which he had hired to 
help him out in this little piece of acting. It any of 
the young fellows who had been in his confidence be- 
fore, joked him about Miss Frytagg, he shrugged his 
shoulders : 

“Too thm^ by a jug full ; I can’t help it, boys ; I 
am sorry for her,’V-or some such flimsy stuff was his 
reply, trying to make it appear that he had done the 
jilting. 

These “ infinitely little ” tricks of his, provoked 
Miss Frytagg a good deal, when she heard of them. 
Then we said Mr. Julius did not come to the point. 
He did not know his own mind on the subject, while 
she know hers pretty thoroughly, and she did not in- 
tend to be trifled with. 

How could she tell, when all the splendor in which 
she lived, knowing how unsubstantial was its founda- 
tion, would vanish like Lamia’s enchanted house and 
furniture, and 

“ Like the baseless fabric of a vision, 

Leave not a wreck behind.” 

She could not afford to be trifled with ; so with all 
her paste jewels and “ castles in Spain,’’ her glory and 
glitter. Miss Frytagg had her troubles. 

Mr. Julius had the ring. He rarely met any mem- 
ber of the Clifton family. Their paths seemed to 
have diverged. He held the “stylish” Miss Frytagg 
by the heart-strings ; but was he happy ? If we could 
have looked into his chamber any of these fine autumn 


72 


W A N I T A . 


nights, when he sat there alone ; if we could have 
seen the dark cloud upon his brow; seen him so fre- 
quently resort to the little vial, we would not think 
that he was enjoying himself 

Habit is a great tyrant, and our young gentleman 
had better beware of falling under the power of a very 
pernicious habit. Mr. Julius knew full well that this 
habit was gaining upon him. He had more than 
once lain pale and frowning; apparently in a deep 
sleep, but all the while conscious of — keenly alive to 
the fact of the fearful struggle that was going on in 
his body, between the dread narcotic and the human 
will; the will resisting the encroachments of the poi- 
son ; the poison striving for the supremacy. 

He knew ; he was conscious all the while, that the 
least wavering in the defence, the least relaxation of 
the powers of the will, and the citadel of life would be 
stormed and taken. 

The thought that the conversation between Mr. 
Worth and the stranger, which he had overheard, had 
proved a sort of trap, and had caught him, was mad- 
ning to Mr. Julius. 

It was a mistake. Wanita was still an heiress, but 
lost to him. His interest in Wanita had died, when 
he believed that her father was a bankrupt ; but now 
he found his thoughts constantly returning to her. 
He felt as if he had been cheated by fate. He blamed 
his mother ; persuaded himself that he had sacrified 
his feelings to her whim. 

His mother’s secret, too, troubled him, more than 
ever. Why could he not solve that mystery ? His 


W A N I T A . 


73 


mother had burned a package of letters that he imag- 
ined would have told him what he so much desired to 
know. The one thing that so nearly concerned him- 
himself. Why was it hidden from him ? 

The letters were old, as old as himself perhaps, and 
he had entered the room too late to save them, but 
in time to see them go, like bad souls, to ashes and 
burning flamfes. One old crumpled envelope, yellow 
with age, and directed in faded ink to his mother, was 
all that was left. He carefully saved that. We will 
see to what end he saved it. 

“ Mother, why do you burn these letters ?” 

‘‘Julius, for your sake and mine/’ 

“ Mother, will you answer my one question ?’^ 
“Julius, for your sake and mine, and she 

walked out of the room ; the ashes of the letters 
lying gray upon the hearth, and the shadow of the 
secret falling black upon her own and her son’s life. 

Thus things did not go to suit Mr. Julius, and he 
frowned more and more upon the world. 


'4 


74 


W A N I T A . 


CHAPTER XIII. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

The joyless day, how dreary ; 

It was na sae ye glinted by, 

When I was wi’ my dearie. 

Burns. 

Paul Thornton in the distant city in the West, was 
shaken by the letter of Joe Berkley, telling him of 
Wanita’s betrothal to Mr. Brandon. He was troubled 
about it, and though hope still stood his friend, and 
he would doubt the correctness of Joe’s information, 
it rendered him unhappy at times. Still he devoted 
himself to business, with his usual assiduity. 

He had his affairs all set in order, except a little 
unfinished writing that his lawyer would do for him, 
and while he awaited for this, he spent his leisure 
hours, most of them, hunting and fishing. He had 
made the acquaintance, and gained the friendship of 
several hunters ; rough, honest, pleasant fellows, with 
a smack of fun in them, who suited his taste much 
better than the perfumed, simpering popinjays whom 
he knew about the cities. 

Several of these men were masters of natural his- 
tory; more reliable than half the books we read 'on 
that subject ; and they told Mr. Paul many facts, that, 
perhaps, have not yet found their way into the books. 
There was a wild poetry, a freshness from the brown, 
old woods, and an honest frankness in these men’s 


W A N I T A . 


75 


natures, that charmed our young hero. Sometimes 
they spent the night in the woods, and around the 
cheerful camp-fire many a thrilling story of hunter^s 
life was told. 

They often fished at night, sometimes building their 
camp-fire on the riverside, and, stretching a rope from 
one bank to the other, fastened to this their lines with 
baited hooks. Large fish were frequently caught in 
this way. 

Mr. Thornton enjoyed these excursions, but he car- 
ried always the little picture of Wanita in his bosom, 
and in his deep human heart, his noble, blameless 
love, softened, shadowed by a touch of sadness. 

‘‘ O ! what sorrow, if, (despite of hope,) I should 
lose you at last, my darling ?” 

His work in the distant city was almost done, as 
we have said. It was in the month of November, 
when Mr. Thornton received another letter from Joe. 
Among other items of news, Joe wrote : 

“ I have heard that your friend, Mr. Clifton, is 
about broken up. He stood security for Mr. Abell, 
whose goods were burned.” 

Paul sprang from his chair. What, Wanita in 
sorrow ; her father ruined ?” 

He forgot all about Brandon ; his only thought was 
of his friend and his beloved. 

The next morning Mr. Clifton received a telegram 
that astonished and puzzled him. It was from Mr. 
Paul, telling him to sacrifice nothing, and offering him 
what pecuniary aid he needed. 

Mr. Clifton read the telegram to his wife ; she un- 
derstood it. 


76 


W A N I T A . 


“ He must, by some means, have heard that you 
were ruined by standing Mr. Abell’s security. Such 
a report was afloat.” 

Mr. Clifton laughed. 

“ Well, he is a good, generous, whole-souled fellow. 
I always knew that. So he would save me if I were 
in trouble? Such friendship, Mary, is not common.” 

When Wanita heard of Mr. Paulas telegram, she 
was touched by his generosity ; so prompt to offer 
assistance. It was all a mistake, but it just showed 
how good he was ; how true a friend to her dear 
father. 

The telegram was received late in November ; Jack 
Frost was playing his mad pranks every where, night 
and morning, and we may be sure Mr. Paul followed 
upon the heels of his telegram, as quickly as possible. 

The last evening he spent in that distant Western 
city ; just let us glance over there, and see how it 
was. 

Mr. Paul had packed his things ; pantheFs skin 
among the rest, and some suitable presents for the 
home folks ; also several geological specimens, which 
he had collected. His business arrangements were 
complete. Success had crowned all his undertakings, 
and he was about to start home. 

There he sat, wrapped in a great coat, ready, wait- 
ing for the time to take the train. The mellow lamp- 
light falls upon his fine, manly, resolute face, but there 
is a shadow upon it. He holds in his hand the little 
pencil likeness of his beloved. He looks down with 
softened, saddened, troubled gaze, upon the sweet 


W A N I T A . 


11 


image; the pure, child-like brow, the pensive little 
mouth, the down cast eyes ; sweet shadow of, to him, 
the fairest face “that e’er the sun shone on,’’ and he 
gently murmurs: 


“ O, why is it ? There are few ^ 
Half so genial, half so true ? 

In heart and soul allied as we — 
Yet, an unkind destiny 
Rears its cruel barriers high, 

By fate we are parted — you and I !” 


Rap, rap, at the door ; it is time to start. The little 
picture is safe in his bosom again. The revery is 
broken, and Mr. Paul Thornton is hurrying out to 
take his seat in the train going East — homeward 
bound. Several of his hunter friends arc there, to 
shake him by the hand and bid him “ God speed.’’ 

While Mr. Paul Thornton thinks of Wanita ; pours 
upon her pictured face in the distant city, and dreams 
of her as he travels homeward — what is she doing, 
the pretty tenderling, this drear November night ? 
The sky is dark and overcast with clouds. The air 
is very cold. The wind whistles and moans, and the 
weather threatens snow. 

She sits by a bright fire in her own pleasant room \ 
her guitar upon her knee, singing her favorite songs, 
(and Mr. Paul’s,) in a soft, low tone. Her songs show 
the way hfer thoughts are going. She opens a win- 
dow at last, and looks out, up at the sky ; a few snow 
flakes, the first of a heavy fail, alight softly upon her 
brow and hair. 


78 


W A N I T A . 


“ I hope,” she murmurs, ” he will have a safe and 
pleasant journey.” 

Why did she think of Mr. Paul that night? Mr. 
Julius was like a shadow, dark and dim in the dead 
past ; a pale phantom of memory, while Mr. Paul was 
a bright, pleasant reality of the present and future. 

Doubtless it was Mr. Paul’s generous offer of aid, 
for one thing, that had reawakened memory, and then 
it is a part of woman’s nature to turn to the truest 
and best. 


W A N I T A . 


79 


CHAPTER XIV. 

My snake with bright, bland eyes — my snake 
Grown tame and glad to be caressed, 

With lips athirst for mine to slake 
This tender fever ! who had guessed 
You loved me best? Swinburne. 

Mr. Julius through this Autumn, spent most of his 
leisure time with Miss Frytagg, and she used all her 
arts, and they were many^ to bring him to the point. 
She liked Mr. Julius, he suited her exactly. If she 
caught him in a fib now and then, it did not matter, 
she could compete with him in that line. Then she 
admired him, his graceful form and handsome face. 
Miss Frytagg had never known any one who pleased 
her so well. But Mr. Julius was fickle, no mistake about 
it, he was undecided. Sometimes he thought (since 
he heard the report about her father’s finances contra- 
dicted) of making up with Wanita. His insolence 
was equal to the undertaking, but he kept hearing 
that she was not at home. He could not see her. He 
began to grow rather careless about Miss Frytagg. 
He was not so punctual as he had been in calling to 
see her, or in filling his little engagements to take her 
out. At last he staid away from her a whole week, 
when lo ! what should the young lady do but drive 
boldly to his mother’s door, ask for him, and as he 
was not at home, leave a message for him. This 
started his mother again, and sowed the seeds of, many 
a future trouble. 


8o 


W A N I T A . 


Mr. Julius tried to explain: 

“ These Frytaggs,” said his mother, “ are such 
common people ; the Captain is just nobody \ their fur- 
niture even is hired, and — ” 

“ People who live in glass houses, should not throw 
stones !” retorted Mr. Julius, “ How do you know all 
this, mother ?” 

“ I had a hint, and I enquired. There is no doubt 
about it.” 

“ So you are at your old trick of watching me, are 
you ? I blame you for my misfortunes in the past. 
There is a way to put a stop to all this,” and Mr. Ju- 
lius left the house in anger — walked straight to Cap- 
tain Frytagg’s mansion and spent the evening with 
Miss . 

Mrs. Brandon’s face, that day, wore the old troubled, 
harassed expression. 

Sister Magg was on her side, this time — she had 
formed an unfavorable opinion of Miss Frytagg, did 
not like the expression of her mouth, perhaps ; but 
this was small comfort to the wretched mother. Sis- 
ter Magg could do more with Mr. Julius when he 
chose to be disagreeable, than she could do herself. 
How was she to put an end to this new flirtation ? 
She was perplexed, she could form no plan ; she 
talked to sister Magg : 

“ What is to be done ?” 

“ I don’t see that you can do anything ; I believe 
that anything you can do, will only make matters 
worse.,” said Miss Magg. 

“ If Julius marries that dreadful woman, Magg, I 
will go where he will never see my face again.” 


W A N I T A . 


8l 


“Jane you know that is just what he threatens to 
do himself — go away from you if you don’t let him 
alone. Only yesterday he had some such talk.” The 
poor mother wrung her hands in anguish. 

“ What am I to do ?” 

‘‘Just let him alone; he is so fickle, he will never 
marry any one if left to himself. Don’t you remem- 
ber Felise Cantani — you never saw her, but you 
heard.” 

Yes, that gave me a world of trouble, and I have 
always been afraid that it is not done with.” 

“ Nonsense, Jane, don’t go back to dig up trouble.” 

“ Magg, you donT feel about that thing as I do, I 
his mother ; you can afford to make light of any 
trouble. I tell you it is not done with.” 

“ Jane, was not I the only one of the relations that 
stood by you in your great trouble — the only one that 
took your part, or would help you in any way?” 

Mrs. Brandon’s face saddened : 

“ Yes, you are the only one. I think, sometimes, 
that it would be best for Julius to know all ; what I 
have endured ; but how can I bear it. Something he 
has known a long time, but the other, I can’t tell 
him!” 

“ Do you never intend to tell him ?” 

“ No, while life lasts, no; I shudder sometimes at 
the thought that after I am in my grave, he will find 
it out ; or, when he is dead, in the world of spirits he 
will torture me with it I” 

“ O, Jane I you know the dead can not torment 
each other I the dead can’t know any thing.” 


82 


W A N I T A . 


“ Magg, I feel as if they do know. If in the other 
world all should be revealed, where would my refuge 
be r 

The dark shadow fell upon her face, her eyes nar- 
rowed, and she looked, at that instant, like her son, 
but the old troubled look came back, she walked back 
and forth through the room uneasily, she looked out 
at the window, at last she came and sat down by her 
sister : 

“ You said that Julius talked of leaving me, do you 
think he would do such a thing ?” 

‘‘You know he has always talked of doing it. 
Don’t you remember when he was a mere boy, and 
you punished him for some fault, he packed his things 
and started to run away ? He has always threatened 
it.” 

“ But do you think there is more danger of his 
doing it now than formerly?” 

” Yes, Jane, I do; he said yesterday that he wanted to 
be free from all restraint — to run his race as he chose ; 
he wanted no one to expect anything of him, no one 
to anything of him ; he would willingly forego 
the affection of friends to be rid of the restraint^ 

“ Oh, God ! the secret ! how utterly miserable I 
am !” and the poor mother bowed her head and wept. 

Miss Magg was very sorry for her, but she was 
unable to offer any comfort. Her words were, alas, 
too true. So the shadow of the dark secret, whatever 
it was — that had lain in this woman^s life, and heart, 
and brain so long, so long, was asserting its powerf 


W A N I T A . 


83 


CHAPTER XV. 


Life is transfigured in the soft and tender 
Light of Love, as a volun>e dun 
Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathed splendor 
In the declining sun. 

Alexander Smith. 

The longest journey ends at last, and Mr. Thornton 

reached C on the afternoon train on the twenty- 

first of November, after an absence of about six 
months. The ground was covered with snow, some- 
thing unusual in C at that time of year. Mr. 

Thornton was met at the depot by his young friend 
Joe Berkley, and as they drove to Mr. Paul’s house 
they met a number of young people in sleighs ; the 
merry tinkling of the bells mingling with the happy 
voices. Sleigh after sleigh glided by, Joe all the time 
rattling away in the exuberance of his joy, until the 
occupants of one in particular attracted Mr. Thorn- 
ton’s attention. The young lady’s showy dress, her 
waving plumes, furs and gaudy wraps, would have 
made her conspicuous ; but she bent upon the young 
men a pair of very bright black eyes, as she flew by. 
The gentleman, too, with his fine clear-cut face and 
Adonis-like figure, was an equally striking object. 

Who are they ? ” asked Mr. Thornton. 

“ Miss Frytagg and Mr. Julius Brandon ; they are 
the town talk just now.” (Joe had forgotten his letter) 


84 


W A N I T A . 


“ I never saw a fellow more devoted. She is fine- 
looking, is’nt she ? ” 

Mr. Thornton did not answer. After a pause of a 
moment, he said : 

“ Joe, is this the same Mr. Brandon you wrote to 
me about ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Joe, carelessly, “It was reported 
that he was about to be married to Miss Wanita Clif- 
ton, but that blew over. He’s sweet on Miss Frytagg 
certain, though.” 

Joe never knew what a weight his carelessly uttered 
words lifted from the heart of his friend. 

It was sundown when the young men reached 
home, and the snow was beginning to fall again. A 
right hearty welcome did Mr. Thornton receive from 
his little household. Old black Betty, aunt Betty as 
she was usually called, old Andy her husband, and 
Toby their son, completed the list of servants. They 
all met the master at the gate with every deuionstra- 
tion of delight. Aunt Betty was particularly anxious 
to make him comfortable, and notwithstanding the 
fact that a roaring fire already burnt upon the hearth, 
(she had kindled it hours before) she went bustling 
about. 

“ Law-sa-massy Tobe ! why don’t you put some 
wood on de fire ? Don’t you see Mr. Paul’s a-cold 
after all he’s been through ? I ’clar I can’t git de 
house warm. You Tobe, you slow poke, (in an un- 
der tone) why don’t you move? ” And in the excess 
of her joy she made the chimney roar. 

Tobe took her scolding in good part; he knew 


W A N I T A . 


85 


that she only meant to make the master comfortable, 
and Tobe desired that as much as she did. He 
moved about nimbly, obeying all her commands with 
a broad good-natured grin on his ebony face. Old 
Andy, too, was not backward to show his affection. 
The old fellow had a number of questions to ask and 
answer, and was very thankful for Mr. Thornton’s 
safe return. 

Aunt Betty soon had a nice hot supper ready, and 
after her master had eaten and distributed the presents 
he had brought them all, she wheeled a great easy 
chair in front of the fire, and placed a pair of slippers 
by the hearth. But no; Mr. Thornton would not sit 
down. She is perfectly taken aback by seeing him 
drawing on his greatcoat and gloves preparatory to 
going out. Aunt Betty’s eyes and mouth are open 
in blank astonishment. 

“ Why, Mr. Paul, it’s a snowin’ as fast as it kin ; 
You shorely ain’t goin’ out in dis weather ! ” 

“ Yes, Betty,” he replies, as he closes the door after 
him. 

“ ’Clare to gracious, don’t de man Jiever tired ? 
Jess come a thousand miles and now gone agin !: 
Don’t dat beat all ! cries aunt Betty. 

But Mr. Thornton was walking briskly through 
the town. The sky was thickly covered with clouds ; 
the snow was falling fast, but Mr. Paul did not heed 
cold or darkness, for his soul kept up both light and 
warmth. He stopped at Mr. Clifton’s door. Mr. 
Clifton and family were very glad to see him, of 
course, and he had a great deal to tell them about 


86 


W A N I T A . 


his trip West. Wanita sat near, and though she 
talked but little, she listened to every word of his dis- 
course. He looked handsomer than usual, for hope 
and happiness are great beautifiers ; and as he bent 
his gaze upon Wanita’s fair young face, suffused with 
a soft blush, he thought her the loveliest vision that 
ever his eyes beheld. 

He stayed late, and before he went he found an op- 
portunity to ask Wanita to go sleigh riding with him 
the next afternoon. Miss Wanita would be delighted, 
and so it was settled. 

Mr. Clifton walked out to the gate with Mr. Paul 
There was something he wished to say. 

“ By the way, Mr. Thornton, I am very much 
obliged to you for your kind offer of help ; very much 
obliged indeed, my friend ; but I am happy to say 
that I don’t stand in need of any just now. But I 
thank you all the same, and any kindness I can do for 
you will give me pleasure.” with a warm shake of the 
hand as they parted. 

Mr. Clifton went back into the parlor. 

“ Mary,” he said to his wife, Mr. Thornton is a 
fine young man, and is very much my friend. He 
only arrived this afternoon and he comes to see me 
right away. I think he is one of the best friends I 
have. That offer of help when he thought I was 
ruined, shows real friendship; very uncommon 
friendship.” 

“ Yes, John ; he is certainly your friend.” 

Mrs. Clifton perfectly agreed with her husband. It 
was rather strange that neither of them thought of 


W A N I T A . 


87 


any other feeling. They had known the young man 
so long, and he had always, from her childhood, 
treated Wanita with so much kindness, that the fond 
parents were blinded. 

If Mr. Thornton surprised old aunt Betty by going 
out in the snow, her surprise was not lessened when 
she saw a light shining from his windows full two 
hours after his return. 

Andy, don’t de man 7iever git tired, I do won- 
der ! ” 

“ I think as much, Betty,” was old Andy’s reply. 

Mr. Paul’s got a mighty will.” 

The next afternoon at the appointed hour, Mr. 
Thornton drove to Mr. Clifton’s door in a handsome 
sleigh, drawn by his favorite horse, a noble spirited 
bay. Wanita in her furs and wrappings, soon joined 
him. Her slender fingers trembled a little as he 
helped her into the sleigh, and away they dashed 
over the snowy ground, Wanita turning as she went 
to kiss her hand at dear old grandmother, who smiled 
at her through the window. 

They had a pleasant ride, we may be sure. Mr. 
Thornton turned from the noisy town, and drove far, 
far into the quiet country. The scenery was lovely 
beyond description. Hills, vales, farms, farm-houses, 
all wrapped in the pure beautiful robe of snow. The 
pines and cedars were bowed under their glistening 
crowns. 

Our lovers chatted merrily at first. Wanita was 
like a delighted child. The lovely sights, the crisp 
fresh air, flushed her cheeks and made her pretty 


88 


W A N I T A . 


dark eyes sparkle. But after a while a silence fell be- 
tween them which was broken by Mr. Paul, when his 
full heart could bear no more and his long cherished 
love found utterance ! And what could sweet Wan- 
ita do ? She silently laid her slender hand (poor 
little trembler!) in Mr. Paul’s broad palm. Some- 
what brown, too, that hand of Mr. Paul’s, into the 
keeping of which Wanita was giving hers ; But a 
strong, honest, gentle hand ; one always willing and 
able to strike for the right and to defend the weak. 

They drove home again, knowing at last that to 
their lot in this world had fallen the best that life can 
give — perfect love ! 

“ Nita, Wanita, ask thy soul if we must part,” had 
been answered to Mr. Paul’s satisfaction. Henceforth 
for them that supreme bliss of united hearts and 
lives. 

As our lovers entered the city, they witnessed a 
strange sight. They were approaching a street cor- 
ner where they saw a girl standing, as if waiting for 
some one. She was a small slender creature. They 
had almost rearhed the corner, when Mr. Brandon 
and Miss Frytagg dashed by, crossing the street in 
front of them. Mr. Brandon bent upon them one of 
his dark frowning looks, but his attention was imme- 
diately attracted to the girl. She sprang forward 
with a low cry, and almost caught the side of the 
sleigh with her hands, when Mr. Brandon struck the 
horse a sharp blow that made him plunge forward. 
The sleigh dashed by — almost over the girl. Mr. 
Thornton and Wanita would have paused to see if 


W A N I T A . 


89 


she was hurt, but she gathered her shawl around her 
and hurried away, This scene transpired in an in- 
stant. but Mr. Thornton and Wanita long remembered 
it. The low cry, the pallid face, the large dark eyes, 
and flying figure of the girl, and the resolute darkly- 
frowning expression of Mr. Julius’ clear-cut face, as he 
struck the horse and dashed away ! 

An agreeable surprise awaited Wanita when she 
reached home. The sleigh had hardly stopped when 
little Willie came tumbling out of the house to meet 
her. There were no bounds to his joy. He caught 
her around the neck and kissed her half a dozen times 
before he shook hands with Mr. Thornton. He had 
come to remain until after Christmas ; over a month. 
“ Oh, would’nt they have good times though ! ” 

“ Nita, I have brought you some nice things ; ap- 
ples and nuts ; and I brought your kitten too ; I have 
it in a basket. I wanted to bring our goats, but father 
would’nt let me.” He rattled on as they went into 
the house, after Mr. Thornton’s having fastened his. 
horse. 

“ Mr. Thornton, ^ir, cousin and I have the best- 
pair of goats, and they work splendid. I am to take 
Nita out riding with them when she goes back; am I 
not, Nita ? ” 

“ Yes, Willie, I believe that was the arrangement,’^’ 
and she smiled at his prattle, holding his small brown 
hand in hers as they walked along. She was verjr 
glad to see the warm-hearted little fellow. 

After Mr. Thornton had taken his leave that even- 
ing, Willie came and sat down by his cousin. 


90 


W A N I T A . 


“ Oh, Nita, you know my puppy,” he said sadly, 
“ you know it was to be a pointer ? Well, you were 
right about it; it is a hound after all. Old Tom 
fooled me about it, and that Torry boy laughed, and 
said I did not know the points of a pointer.” 

“That is bad, Willie, but never mind,” she answered 
kindly, “a hound, father says, is best to catch rab- 
bits ; you can catch rabbits with him this winter. But 
uncle Tom ought not to have deceived you.” 

“ Or the Terry boy laugh.” 

So little Will had troubles too. 




W A N I T A . 


91 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The skin changes country and color, 

And shrivels or swells to a snake’s j 
Let it brighten and bloat and grow duller, 

We know itf the flames and the flakes. 

Swinburne. 

Let US follow that slight figure, that pale strange 
face, those large, dark, gipsy-like eyes, the woman 
at the sight of whom Mr. Julius Brandon’s brow had 
darkened, cheek paled and eyes narrowed, as he 
dashed by her, almost over her. She moved on 
through by-ways and back streets, not seeming to 
heed the cold, but sometimes staggering as if from 
weakness, then with an effort walking on, an absent 
look upon her wan face, her shawl hanging loosely 
until she reached a poor house in an out-of-the-way 
deserted quarter of the city. It was a dreary-looking 
place. She entered the house, walked straight to her 
room, and throwing off her shawl and hat, uncovered 
a piece of canvas, on an easel that stood at the side of 
the room where the light fell full upon it. She stood 
before it, pencil in hand. 

“ I will finish the last picture,” she said in a low,, 
hollow tone, “ yes, I have it now, the /ast picture ; the 
picture of the implacable ? ” 

Her voice sank to a whisper. She dipped the pen- 
cil in the color and began to paint, but her fingers, 
which she had not noticed until now, were too stiff 


92 


W A N I T A . 


with cold to perform their work. She laid the pencil 
down, and kindling a fire in the grate, held her poor 
pale hands to it, almost in the blaze. She sat but a 
few moments warming her benumbed hands, then 
went again to the picture. Rapidly she drew line 
after line, her eager burning gaze fixed upon the can- 
vas. Rapidly her thin hands moved, and the last 
picture grew and grew in the fading evening light, un- 
til the shadows fell so thick that she could no 
longer guide the pencil. Day died, and in the dim, 
uncertain twilight, shadowy, strange stood the picture 
and the artist. Dimly by the fading beams could be 
traced upon the canvas the form of a horse in the act 
of plunging, the upper part of a car or chariot, and 
the charioteer, a tall, graceful man, with a handsome, 
clear-cut cruel face, dark eyes, scowling brow, com- 
pressed lips, driving fiercely. The lower part of the 
picture is unfinished ; we will wait and see. 

The pale artist cowers now over the little fire in the 
grate. Through the twilight she sits there, and far 
into the lonely night-hours, still she is there ! At 
dark, a child called to her that supper is ready, but 
she does not move. The fire burns down ; the room 
is completely dark, save now and then a feeble flash 
of light from the dying embers, which illumines it for 
a moment, when the dark, handsome, evil face of the 
charioteer looks out weirdly from the canvas, and the 
wan, sad face of the strange artist-woman looks out 
wildly from its frame of jetty hair. 

And how fares Mr. Julius this night in his luxuri- 
ous chamber ? He had deposited Miss Frytagg at 


W A N I T A . 


93 


her father’s door, and hastened home. He shut him- 
self in his own room. The bell rang for tea, but he 
did not make his appearance. His careful mother 
went to his door. 

“ Julius, are you sick ? ” 

“ No, mother ; I do not wish any supper ; I do not 
wish to be disturbed.’^ 

She looked at him keenly as he sat by the table, 
leaning his head upon his hand, and there was some- 
thing in his face that struck fear through her heart. 
She closed the chamber door softly, and went back to 
the tea-table. 

The meal was eaten in silence by herself and Miss 
Magg. The dainty viands which she had prepared 
especially for her son, whose taste she consulted in 
almost everything, were scarcely touched. At a late 
hour she put on her slippers, that she might not dis- 
turb him, and went again to her son’s room. It was 
perfectly silent, not even the breathing of the sleeper 
could be heard. The lamp in her hand cast a clear 
light over the room. Her son was lying asleep in 
bed — a sleep so deep that he did not move when the 
rays of the lamp fell full upon his face. On a small 
table by the bedside was a bottle of brandy, a sugar 
bowl, a cup and spoon ; they had not been touched. 
She noticed that the bottle was full, but there, also, 
half empty, was the little vial. The mother under- 
stood. She took his wrist in her hand and felt the 
pulse carefully. She put her ear to his mouth and 
listened to his breathing. .She looked sorrowfully 
down upon his handsome face, the dark frown dis- 


94 


W A N I T A . 


figuring it even in this deep death-like sleep. The 
delicately curled, almost girlish, mouth was half open, 
showing the sharp white edges of his perfect teeth, 
but the lips wore no smile, the expression was ghastly 
and repulsive. As she looked down upon him the 
wretched mother’s thoughts wandered back, back to 
a face, the prototype of this, a clear cut, cruel face that 
was once her bliss and bale. “ How like ! ” she mur- 
mured mournfully. She poured the contents of the 
vial into the grate, then wrapping herself in a shawl, 
sat down by her son’s bedside. Hour after hour wore 
away, and still she sat there, the tears sometimes 
coursing each other down her pale cheeks. Hour 
after hour the miserable mother watched until the 
long, deep slumber, the potent spell, began to break. 
He drew a long sigh and turned uneasily in his bed. 
The dark narcotic was vanquished, the struggle was 
over, and life was triumphant once more ! 

Mrs. Brandon slipped noiselessly out of the room, 
having, at the first signs of awaking, extinguished her 
lamp. She flitted like a shadow through the dark, 
silent house to her own room. 

Mr. Clifton remained down town that evening till a 
late hour, and his wife sat by a lamp in her own cham- 
ber reading a letter. There was an expression of pain 
and surprise on her pale oval face as she read. The 
letter was from one of her oldest friends, one whom 
she had known from her girlhood, and it told of events 
that had transpired in those long vanished years, of 
people who were dead and gone, and of others who 
had gone that other way — gone to the bad ! As she 


W A N I T A . 


95 


read, a look of tenderest pity mingled with the sur- 
prise and horror on her face, that pale oval face so 
capable of expressing all emotions. She held the 
letter in her hand after she had finished reading it, as 
if doubtful what to do. At last she laid it among the 
glowing coals, and watched it writhe, and wither, and 
blaze, and drop into ashes. 

“ Good heavens ! what a son of what a father ! ” 
she murmured, as the letter disappeared; the secret 
once more betaking itself to ashes and burning flame, 
like a bad soul ! 

Now while the pale stranger artist sits with the 
half-finished picture in the dark, dreary hovel ; while 
Mr. Julius lies pale and frowning under the baleful 
influence of the little vial, watched by his sorrowing, 
sinful mother ; while the secret-telling letter burns 
under the thoughtful eyes of Mrs. Clifton ; while 
sweet Wanita lies folded in the balmy arms of health- 
ful slumber, dreaming blissful dreams of hope and 
love, Mr, Paul sits under the mellow light of his 
lamp, with the little picture in his hand. He writes, 
adds a line to those already written there under the 
lovely image, and affixes a new date, “ November 22d, 
1871.’’ His fine manly face glows with noble, gentle 
thoughts. 

“ My darling forevermore ! ” he murmurs softly, 
and presses the little picture to his lips. Then in a 
voice full, sonorous, musical, he repeats : 


96 


W A N I T A . 


“ We cannot live except thus mutually 
We alternate, aware or unaware, 

The reflex act of life j and when we bear 
Our virtue outward most impulsively, 

Most full of invocation and to be 
Most instantly compellant, certes there 
We live most life, whoever breathes most air. 

And counts his dying years by sun and sea. 

But when a soul by choice and conscience doth 
Throw her full force out on another soul, 

The conscience and the concentration both 
Make mere life love 

Thus the germ of the tender feeling which Mr. 
Thornton had cherished for our Wanita, as a pretty, 
gentle child, had changed, and grown, and taken the 
form and color of this fair life-long flower of Love. 


W A N I T A . 


97 


CHAPTER XVIL 

The law of Heaven and earth is life for life. Byron. 

The next day after the sleigh ride, Mrs. Clifton 
wrapped herself well from the cold, and accompanied 
by little Kitty, who carried a basket of dainties, went 
to look after a sick woman, an old servant who had 
once nursed her when ill. She found the woman bet- 
ter, and was returning home. Her way lay by the 
tenement of the artist girl. Mrs. Clifton knew the 
woman who lived there, as an honest seamstress who 
sometimes did work for her. Just as she got opposite 
the door, picking her way over the snowy street, the 
woman ran out of the house in a great fright, cry- 
ing : 

“ Oh, Mrs. Clifton, do come in a moment ! I be- 
lieve she is dead ! Do come, for God’s sake ! I am 
all alone, and I believe she is dead ! ” 

“ Who is dead, Mrs. Brown ? 

“ The young woman — the strange girl.” 

They entered the artist’s room. 

There she lay upon the bed, quite unconscious. 
Her pale, pale face with her long black hair contrast- 
ing with its ghastly pallor; her lips apart, her eyes 
half open, she did indeed look like death. 

Mrs. Clifton soon found that the girl had only 
fainted, and by using such restoratives as were at 
hand, the poor creature was soon restored to anima- 

5 


98 


W A N I T A . 


tion. Life quivered back into her pale face ; her 
great dark eyes opened wide with a piteous, fright- 
ened look. 

“ Have you come ? Have you come at last ? ’’ she 
whispered wildly. Let me finish the last picture, and I 
am willing to go ! I am willing to go ! 

She was evidently delirious. 

“ How long has she been sick?” asked Mrs. Clifton. 

“ She was taken bad sometime last night,” replied 
the woman. ” She did not come to supper, but I 
thought nothing of that ; she often stays away from 
a meal, but when she did not come to breakfast, I 
wished to know what was the matter; I found her as 
you see.” 

” She was not sick before ? ” 

” She was sick directly after she came here ; she 
was in bed a week. I took care of her. She was 
hardly able to be up, when, what must she do yester- 
day afternoon, but go out on the snow and walk, I 
don’t know where. She was gone two hours or more. 
When she came back, instead of eating something 
and going to bed, she painted on that picture, ” point- 
ing to the one on the easel, ” I don’t know how long, 
and this morning she was worse than ever.” 

” Have you sent for a physician ? ” 

“ No, ma’am ; I did not know what to do.” 

” Send for one immediately. Dr. Miller is the 
nearest.” 

The woman went to send her son for the physi- 
cian. Mrs. Clifton turned and looked at the picture 
on the easel. 


VV A N I T A . 


99 


“ Ha ! what is this ? The face, the form of Mr. 
Julius ! It could be no other ! ” 

Just then the woman came back. 

“ You say she painted this ? ” 

“ Yes, ma^am,’’ replied Mrs. Brown, “ she worked 
on it until dark. There are others under the cover 
there. She did them all before she came here.” 

‘‘ Have you heard her mention any name since she 
came here ? Has ^she any friends or acquaintances in 
C 

“ She asked me if I knew a Mr. Brandon, and where 
he lived, but I did not know. That is all the name I 
have heard her call. She has been trying to get up 
and work on that picture there, all the morning. She 
worries herself about it.’’ 

Yes.” 

Mrs. Clifton went to the bedside, and smoothing the 
pillow, soothed by her gentle touch and voice the 
poor, delirious girl. 

“ Won’t you please stay until the Doctor comes?” 
said Mrs. Brown, “ I am easy frightened, and she is 
so strange. She might go off, and nobody here but 
me.” 

Mrs. Clifton sat down by the bedside. She drew 
back from the pale young brow the tangled masses of 
jetty hair. She took the poor little faded hand in hers, 
she moistened the parched, fevered lips. 

I am so glad you have come at last ! ” murmured 
the girl, “ when I have finished the picture we will 
go. I am willing to go, now ! I have seen him ; I 
am willing to go ! ” 


100 


W A N I T A . 


Suddenly she started ; she sat upright in the bed. 

“ Let me finish the last picture ! ’’ she shrieked, 
** let me finish the last picture and then I will go ! ” 
Yes, yes, you shall, said Mrs. Clifton, “ be quiet, 
and you will get better.” 

She held her gently. 

“Let me finish the last picture and I will be quiet. 
Oh, so quiet ! I am weary, weary ! Let me finish 
my work and go ! I will be quiet ; what more can 
the dead do ? What more can the dead do ? I long 
at last for the cup of Lethe. The Lethean wave and 
the lotus spray — the Lethean wave and the lotus 
spray ! Over and over, in a low chanting voice, she 
repeated these words. It was impossible to quiet her. 

“I will tell you what he swore by,’’ she caught Mrs. 
Clifton’s hand in a tight, nervous grasp, “ I will tell 
you what he swore by : He swore by the steadfast 
stars ! He should not have done so ! He swore by 
the steadfast stars, but the stars are not steadfast ! 
They change, change, change ! Some of them burn 
up and go away. Oh, he should not have sworn by 
the steadfast stars ! ” 

The doctor came at last. It seemed a weary time 
that Mrs. Clifton sat there listening to the ravings of 
the sick girl. After carefully examining the patient, 
the doctor left directions with the woman. His face 
was ominously grave. Mrs. Clifton went home, prom- 
ising to come again on the morrow. The last words 
that rang upon her ear as she went out, were : 

” Let me finish the last picture. Make the wheels 
heavy and strong ! ” 


W A N I T A . 


lOI 


Mrs. Clifton walked home, musing sadly as she went. 

“ What could it mean ? Mr. Julius’ face in the pic- 
ture ; the poor girFs asking about him ; what could it 
mean? 

Womanly pity, one of the strongest traits in her 
character, prompted this good woman to do all that 
she could for the desolate young stranger. 

On the morrow she came again, with wine and jelly 
for the invalid, but she found her worse, much worse. 
The doctor had been there and had given Mrs. Brown 
no reason to hope for her recovery. Mrs. Clifton was 
deeply moved. She laid aside her cloak and hat and 
sat down by the bed. The girl seemed to be sleep- 
ing. Suddenly she opened her eyes wide, with an 
eager, wild expression, and lifting her pale wasted 
hand, began to move it to and fro, as if tracing figures 
with her finger. 

“ Let me finish the last picture.” 

She was under the illusion that she was working at 
her art. To and fro, to and fro, she waved her pale 
hand in the air, slower and slower, until from sheer 
exhaustion it sank back upon the bed. 

“ Let me finish the last picture ! the last picture ! 
I shall work no more ! Heavy and strong ! Heavy 
and strong !” All day, with, short intervals of uneasy 
sleep, she kept this up. The pale finger, phantom- 
like, tracing a picture in the air! The weak, hollow 
voice, weaker and weaker repeating ; 

“The last picture! The last picture! I shall work 
no more !. Heavy and strong to crush 1 crush I 
crush!’" 


102 


W A N I T A . 


Towards evening she fell into a deep sleep. Mrs. 
Clifton and the woman hoped that she would wake 
up better; sleep is such a restorer. But alas! she 
awoke perfectly conscious, clear-headed, but the sands 
of life were running very low I She watched Mrs. 
Clifton as she moved about her, and there was a 
sweet, wistful expression on her wan face. Mrs. 
Clifton gave her a little wine, it seemed to revive her. 
After a short time she asked for more. 

“ It will give me strength, dear lady, to tell you,” 
she murmured. “ Now sit by me, I must tell you 
quickly.” Mrs. Clifton leaned down close to her, 
holding her hands gently in her own. “ When they 
have laid me where I shall sleep” — she frequently 
paused as if tired — “send all my things to my poor 
mother,” and she gave a name and address, “ all 
except those four pictures, three arc finished, the last 
one, I tried to do it I” It is impossible to describe the 
piteous, pleading look in her large eyes, as she fixed 
them upon the lady’s face. “ Will you finish it for 
me? O, promise!” 

I will ! I will !’’ 

“Bend low,” murmured the pale, tremulous lips. 
“ Listen ! Make the wheels heavy and strong and 

under the wheels ” she whispered close to Mrs. 

Clifton’s ear. The lady paled as she listened. 

“ Shall I send for him ? Do you wish to see him ?” 
The dying face smiled softly. 

“ I am changed,” she said, “ I am changed ! I did 
so long to see him once! But now, I have not time. 
It is all over ! I shall never see him more. Send him 


W A N 1 T A . 


103 


the pictures in the month of May. Dear lady, pray for 
me !” Mrs. Clifton knelt down by the bedside and 
prayed fervently. Her low, sad tones were full of 
tender pity and pleading. When she arose, a gur- 
gling sound from the girl’s throat, a slight tremor of 
the slender wasted form, and Mrs. Clifton looked 
down with tearful, pitying eyes upon the face of the 
dead ! 

“ Gone!” she sighed, as she closed the large, staring 
eyes, and smoothed the long disheveled hair. “Gone 
where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary 
are at rest I” 

Mrs. Clifton buried the poor stranger near her own 
dead, in the church yard, in a pretty place. “ Felise ; 
died November 27th, 187 — was carved on the low 
headstone. She sent the things as directed to the 
mother, and the pictures she carried to her own home 
and placed them in an unoccupied room. She did 
not uncover them. The unfinished one — when the 
spring buds should begin to blow, she would fulfill 
her promise — “ he must have them ia the month of 
May,” she said. 


104 


W A N I T A . 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


O shallow-hearted, never more on thee 
Shall visions of that finer world above 
Dawn from the chaste auroras of their love ; 

But common things, seen in a funeral haze 
Of earthiness, and sorrow, and mistrust, 

Weigh the soul down and soil its hopes with dust; 

A hand like Fate’s with cruel force shall press 
Thy spirit backward into heaviness, 

And the base realm of that forlorn abyss 
Wherein the serpent passions writhe and hiss 
In savage desolation ! Blind, blind, blind 
Art thou henceforth in heart and hope and mind ! 

Paul H. Hayne. 


Mr. Julius arose from his bed, after that deep sleep, 
looking as usual, only a little pale. His mother did 
not question him, or mention it even. 

“ Do you feel well this morning, Julius ?” 

“ Quite well, thank you,’’ was all that passed be- 
tween them. She was very attentive to him at break- 
fast, and looked to his wrapping himself well against 
the cold, before going out. 

“Julius, the weather is very cold, wear these thick 
woolen gloves, and this warm scarf.” 

“ Thank you, mother.” She was always more at- 
tentive to him after one of those frights ; though a 
quarrel with her was often the cause of his resorting 
to the little vial. 

Mr. Julius had been greatly shocked at the appear- 
ance of the strange young woman, Felise Cantani. 


W A N I T A . 


105 


He had hoped never to meet the gaze of those dark 
sorrowful eyes again. It was dreadful for her to call 
to him as she had done, to rush towards the sleigh 
in that frantic manner. What impression was made 
upon Miss Frytagg’s mind, he did not dare imagine. 
Wanita Clifton, too, had witnessed it all. That was 
even worse. It set Mr. Julius’ thoughts in a very un- 
pleasant groove. This strange wild face, this slight 
figure, he had hoped to see no more on earth. Now, 
they had aroused all the pale phantoms of the past — 
shadowy ghosts that would not be laid at his will. 

And she was still in C . He was liable to meet 

her at any moment. She might go to his mother’s 
house. She might enter the Frytagg mansion. No 
telling what she might do, or say. There was posi- 
tive terror in these thoughts! Mr. Julius felt savage, 
cruel ; he ground his teeth and knit his brow in an 
ugly manner. He would have been glad to have had 
her dead at his feet, her lips sealed forever. 

But days went by, and he heard and saw nothing 
more of Felise. His fears gradually abated. He 
congratulated himself upon his escape. Miss Fry- 
tagg received, unquestioned, the explanation he chose 
to give : “ A half crazy girl who ought to be in the 

asylum (so she was, poor thing I) I wonder the au- 
thorities allow her to go around in this manner.” So 
said Mr. Julius, and things went on as usual. The 
snow melted away, and the long winter drew to a 
close. Sweet spring smiled again upon the earth. Mr. 
Julius quit thinking of the girl. One afternoon he 
took Miss Frytagg out for a walk. The beautiful 


I06 WANITA. 

evergreens and early flowers in the city cemetery 
tempted them to turn their steps that way, for it was 
early in the spring, and nature had not yet put on her 
mantle of verdure. Through the shadowy v/alks, 
among the sombre vaults and white ghostly shafts of 
the city of the dead, they rambled, talking lightly, 
Miss Frytagg doing most of it, their thoughts on any 
thing but death. Mr. Julius was not so much in love 
as he had been (having made certain little arithmeti- 
cal calculations), but Miss Frytagg’s affection had not 
decreased in the least. In fact, hers seemed to grow 
warmer in proportion as his declined. Still Mr. Julius 
was willing to trifle time away, to be amused at Miss 
Frytagg’s expense. 

Now remember, this young man was educated — 
had talent — was capable of better things ; but he had 
deliberately chosen his way of life. He had left the 
noble and the true, of his own accord ! He had gradu- 
ally — it is always gradually done — fallen into habits 
and ways of thinking and acting that he knew were 
wrong. His mother — her secret had exercised a bad 
influence on him — he had not resisted that influence. 
He had intelligence, he had strength — he should have 
resisted and nobly triumphed over it — strengthening 
his moral powers by that resistance. But no — he had 
deliberately surrendered his integrity. He was a 
moral wreck of his own making. So he listened to 
Miss Frytagg’s silly talk ; descended to her level in- 
tellectually — vain young fellow — he dipt his soul’s 
wings — trailed them in filth and mire until it was 
doubtful (if they ever had a chance) whether they 


W A N I T A . 


107 


could soar again in this world. Miss Frytagg made 
him forget — so did the little vial. ^‘Respite, respite 
and nepenthe ! ” 

This precious couple rambled on until Miss Fry- 
attention was attracted by the new grave in 
Mr. Clifton’s section — she paused and read aloud : 

“ ‘ Felise ; died November 24th, 187 — .’ Good 
gracious ! What is the matter, Mr. Brandon ?” She 
caught him by the arm, for he staggered as if about 
to fall ! “ What in the world is the matter ?’’ 

“ O, nothing!” impatiently, “only a momentary 
giddiness — I believe we had better go.” 

“ Do, lean on my arm, Mr. Brandon I ” said Miss 
Frytagg, tenderly. But he would not. He felt bet- 
ter. He walked with her to her own gate, and bade 
her good evening. 

“ O, do take care of yourself, Mr. Brandon ! — you 
look ill 1 Come in and rest before going home ! 
But he did not seem to like her to express so much 
solicitude. He drew his hat over his eyes, and bow- 
ing once more, walked off 

As Mr. Julius went to Captain Frytagg’s mansion 
that day, he had seen Miss Frytagg come out of a 
drug store and go towards home. He had followed 
her, in fact, she entered the house just before him 
and, as she passed in, he had seen her drop some- 
thing — a slip of paper. He quietly picked it up and 
put it in his pocket — intending to read it (Mr. Julius, 
like his mother was capable of doing such a thing,) 
before returning it. After leaving her at the gate — 
his cheek still pale from the shock he had recived — 


io8 


W A N I T A . 


he took the paper from his pocket and read it. It 
proved to be the name of a paint for the complexion, 
“ bloom of youth or something of that sort. Mr. 
Julius stopped at the drug store called for a glass of 
brandy — he “ was quite unwell.” He then bought 
a package of the paint named on the paper. And he 
was enlightened upon trying a little on his own flesh 
to see it assume the exact hue of Miss Frytagg’s (and 
her mother’s) blooming cheeks. Mr. Julius did this 
just after standing by the grave of poor Felise — his 
thoughts still running darkly upon her — not in sor- 
row but in anger and fear. Felise was dead ! — no 
danger of her ever troubling him more. She had 
died two days after he saw her — almost drove over 
her with the sleigh. That young life had gone out in 
darkness ! There would have been real comfort in 
the thought if Mr. Julius had been certain she had 
told nothing ! (You see he too had his secret.) But 
who had buried her there among Mr. Clifton’s rela- 
tives ! Who had known her? What might she not 
have told? Mr. Julius felt as if he had been doing 
something very dreadful — so he had — and that a fin- 
ger from that low grave was pointing him out as a 
criminal! Mr. Julius dreaded nothing so much as a 
detection. He did not care what wrong or sorrow he 
inflicted on others, so the world knew nothing of it. 
He could riot in secret sin if he could only keep it 
hidden. What ''they woidd saf* restrained him more 
than the laws of God and man. It was the dread of 
worldly censure, not scruples of conscience, that put 
thorns in Mr. Julius’ pillow that night 


W A N I T A . 


109 


CHAPTER XIX. 

I hear the sound of marriage bells ! 

Tinnysoh. 

Sweet Wanita. How did she spend this long win- 
ter ? Happily of course. Mr. Paul was with her 
almost every day. If by any chance he missed seeing 
her, if it was only for a few moments, he felt as if he 
had lost a day. She was bright and happy. Grand- 
mother, too, was satisfied with this lover for her 
darling. 

“ No false heart here,” she said, ” but the soul of 
honor, the best of men.” 

They had a merry Christmas. Mr. and Mrs. Clifton 
liked to keep up the pleasant, time-honored custom 
of celebrating this hallowed time and of gathering 
their friends and relations around them. Grand- 
mother enjoyed these reunions greatly. She was 
never so happy as when she had her two sons and 
their families with her. Mr. William Clifton and Mrs. 
Anna were there upon this occasion. Little Willie, 
who had been a month with his cousin, would return 
with them after the holidays were over, to their plea- 
sant country home. So they had a merry, merry 
Christmas. 

Willie, like most children, was a close observer. 
When he came to understand how matters stood 
between his cousin and Mr. Thornton, his counte- 


no 


W A N I T A . 


nance fell. It was Christmas day, the happiest day 
in all the year to little boys. His pockets and hands 
were full of presents and “ goodies,” yet he sat down 
silent and thoughful. At last he put his arms around 
his cousin’s neck, to the detriment of her nice ruff, 
and whispered in her ear; Willie’s whisper was a 
pretty loud one. 

“ Nita, when you are married will you go fishing 
with me and ride in my goat wagon, and help me 
with my things like you do now ? Say ‘Nita.’ ” 

Wanita blushed and laughed, and Mr. Thornton, 
who sat by her side, answered Willie’s whisper : 

“Yes, Willie, she will love you just as much as she 
does now. What is more, you will have two friends; 
two cousins, then, instead of one.” This satisfied 
little Will, who was soon rollicking around firing 
powder crackers, and as happy as boyhood, freedom 
and Christmas could make him. 

Winter, social, cheerful winter, wore away, and 
April buds began to blow. 

The topmost elm tree gathered green. 

From draughts of balmy air.” 

Wanita and Mr. Thornton were to be married early 
in the spring. As the time drew near they were all 
busy preparing for the marriage. Mr. Thornton’s 
household was in a state of commotion. Aunt Betty 
scolded and scrubbed and fussed as she never had 
done before. She could not get things nice enough. 
Tobe came in for his full share of her scolding. 

“ Now jess look at de nigger! he’s gwine to bring 


W A N I T A . 


Ill 


all the dirt in dis town into dis house, in spite of all I 
kin do.” Tobe would retreat on tip-toe, and though 
he had already cleaned his feet, go through that ope- 
ration again, and then approach his mother as if walk- 
ing on eggs. 

“ What will de lady say, and its in a most de time !” 
Even Joe now and then thought best to retreat 
before Aunt Betty’s battery. But when Mr. Thorn- 
ton was about the house there was a cessation of 
hostilities, a decided change in her tactics. Through 
her great respect for him, she confined herself to 
silently punching Tobe in the ribs, or shaking him 
by the wool now and then, all of which he took in 
good part and with exemplary patience. He under- 
stood his mother ; she was only excessively anxious 
to please Mr. Paul and show her respect for the 
coming bride. Aunt Betty had been Mr. Thornton’s 
housekeeper for years, ever since she was set free, and 
she considered her reputation at stake on this im- 
portant occasion. 

“ What will de young lady think of me if she finds 
things in a muss,” aunt Betty frequently said. Her 
vanity had an interest in the matter, so she worked 
and fussed. Mr. Paul’s appearance on the threshold 
always being the signal for silence. If she had been 
less considerate it is doubtful whether he would have 
noticed her din. His thoughts were occupied with 
other matters. 

These young people were married with the blessing 
and consent of friends and relatives. Wanita : 


12 


W A N I T A . 


“ Tell me, ye merchants’ daughters, did ye see 
So fayre a creature in your towne before ; 

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 

Adorn’d with beautye’s grace and vertue’s store.” 

Old Edmund Spencer’s sweet epithalamium might 
have been sung for her, so charming, so beautiful a 
bride was she. And Mr. Paul, a man who fills every 
other position in life well, is sure to make a good hus- 
band. Paul Thornton loved his wife with a pure un- 
selfish love. He lightened her cares by encourage- 
ment and approval. Pie elevated her intellectually. 
He opened new fields of delight to her in science, in 
literature. He sought for her always the highest 
good. It was his duty and his pleasure to see that 
her bright youth, her noble prime of womanhood, 
entrusted to his guardianship, were not wasted in 
monotonous drudgery, or consumed in frivolous 
brainless pursuits. She shared his noblest pleasures. 
His companion, his beloved ! And Wanita — woman 
is naturally grateful — O, how she loved and rever- 
enced her husband with her whole soul ! thus attain- 
ing for herself the highest happiness. No question 
of obedience between them. His wishes were laiv 
with her — the law of love I 

The happiness of this virtuous affectionate couple 
was reflected on their friends and relatives. It was 
restful to the parents and the aged grandmother — 
they all sunned themselves in the light of the happi- 
ness that glorified these two lives. 

As years went by Wanita, leading this blissful 
woman’s life — her beauty increased — the improve- 


W A N I T A . 


II3 

ment being clearly perceptible to her friends. For 
happiness and intellectual culture, widening and 
deepening the channels of thought were also carving 
her face into higher finer lines of beauty, and giving 
to her bearing a noble dignity — an earnest grace, 
more charming if possible than the soft fresh beauty 
of her sweet rose bud youth. This improvement, as 
we said, was due to her generous loving husband's 
help. He it was who led the way — whose delight it 
was to help this sweet companion by his strength — 
while she by her feminine delicacy and refinement of 
taste gave a finer touch of gentleness to her husband's 
noble character ; so that he could truly say : 

“ Beloved let us love so well 
Our work shall still be better for our love. 

And still our love be better for our work, 

And both commended for the sake of each 
To all true workers and true lovers born.’* 


CHAPTER XX. 


For time at last sets all things even — 

And if we do but watch the hour, 

There never yet was human power 
Which could evade, if unforgiven, 

The patient search and virgil long 
Of him who treasures up a wrong. 

Byron. 

But the pictures. What did Mrs. Clifton do with 
the pictures? It was in the “greenest growth of the 
Ma;^ time.” Wanita had been married several weeks. 
Mrs. Clifton felt restless and lonely, so she bethought 
herself of the pictures. She unlocked that chamber 
where they lay and went in. She uncovered them all, 
and sat down to study their meaning. The first pic- 
ture was of a young girl — the same face that Mrs. Clif- 
ton had seen fade from the light of this world, but it 
was bright and beautiful here — the roses on her 
cheeks and the love light in her eyes, and bending 
over this fair young creature, O, how lovingly, was 
the same face and form that figured in the unfin- 
ished one — the fine clear cut face — the Adonis- 
like form of Mr. Julius! The next picture. It was 
of a beautiful landscape — an Elysian garden. The 
gorgeous loveliness and glow of summer was upon it. 
Tropical plants and flowers adorned it — and two were 
walking there — the same faces — the lovely young 
girl, there were her dark gazell-like eyes, her long 


W A N I T A . 


II5 

jetty hair — Felise Cantani and her handsome lover ! 
The dead girl and Mr. Julius! And he held her 
slender hand, placing upon it the betrothal ring, loving- 
ly ! O, how lovingly! The next picture was difterent 
— winter had fallen upon the garden of delight — drear, 
cold, desolate ! and the maiden was there alone ! The 
same large dark gazelle-like eyes — the same face of 
delicate beauty but changed ! The cheeks had lost 
their roundness and bloom — the eyes looked as 
though they were ‘‘charged with unshed tears. It 
was a beautiful picture of sorrow and desolation ! But 
the last one. The chariot and the charioteer. The 
tall graceful form and handsome cruel face, darkened 
by that strange frown, the narrow angry eyes. Mr. 
Julius with his worst expression — driving fiercely over 
— what ? Mrs. Clifton dipt her pencil in the color to 
finish it, remembering the stranger’s dying words. 
“ He must have it during the month of May.’^ 
Patiently she worked there alone. It was days before 
she was done, and sat down to take her last look at 
them before sending them all, according to promise, 
to Mr. Julius. There was ^-he dreadful car — the 
heavy grinding wheels, and under them — crushed by 
their cruel weight the face and form of the lost girl ! 
The long dark hair fell back from the ghastly up- 
turned face — so calm, so cold in death ! The frail 
young form — the unresisting hands ! Ah, it was an 
awful picture ! Faithfully had Mrs. Clifton fulfilled 
her promise to the dead ! and as she sat there an ex- 
pression of pitying sadness came over her face. The 
letter — she remember every word of it now — came, to 


W A N I T A . 


1 16 

add another — a picture on the brain — to those before 
her, and she murmured as on that wintry night, when 
she watched that letter, with its secret go like a bad 
soul to ashes and burning flame. 

“ O what a son of what a father !” 

Mr. Clifton came into the room and sat down by 
her side. 

Is your task finished, Mary ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, finished at last.’’ 

“ My true wife, what a blessing this man’s treachery 
has proved to us! ” He knew all about this poor girl, 
the pictures, the conduct of Mr. Julius, with regard to 
Wanita, and his wife had told him of the letter — its 
contents. 

“Yes, John, it is strange but true. I wonder how 
he got the impression that you were ruined. I be- 
lieve he started the report.” 

“ If it had not been for that impression he would 
not have revealed his real character perhaps, until too 
late. I shudder at the thought.” 

“ It is all strange, and does indeed look, as mother 
says, like the workings of Providence. God takes care 
of the innocent.” 

“ Yes, Mary.” 

“ John, he is almost the exact image of his father. 
He has the fine clear-cut profile, the graceful air, the 
expression.” 

“And principles, with the addition of his mother’s. 
Alas that they should be hereditary.” 

“ If he had been differently reared he might have 
made a good and useful man, despite his parentage. 


W A N I T A . 


II7 

Such things have been. But nurtured in an atmos- 
phere of deceit, always under false colors, with such 
examples, how could it be otherwise ?” 

“ He is to be pitied as well as blamed. Do you 
thirfk he knows his mother^s past history ?” 

“I think he does. He hinted at a mistery in his 
last conversation with me. He must have alluded to 
that.” 

“ Yes, he must have alluded to that — if not to the 
girl Felise.” 

“ I think he is a heartless scoundrel and cares for 
nothing except what effects his own comfort. He 
cared nothing for the girl — but his mother — her 
shame touched him.” 

“ Certainly, but why did he allude to it at all. He 
did not think that you knew any thing about his 
parents.” 

“He wished to throw the blame of his conduct on 
his mother.” 

“ I dare say you are right. What a consumate 
rascal he is, and what a mask he wears.” 

“ Mrs. Brown, the woman in whose house Felise 
died, told me the other day when she brought my 
sewing, that Madam Cantani, the mother of Felise, 
has written to her, and is coming to C., to learn all 
that she can about her daughter's death and to visit 
her grave.” 

“ Poor mother ! Heaven pity her! ” 

“Look, John,” Mrs. Clifton pointed to the four pic- 
tures. “What a perfect likeness in each of these, 
yet how different the expression of each.” 


i8 


\V A N I T A . 


“Drawn from life?” 

“ By the hand of the inspired artist — Death ! ’’ 

“ Do you think a spirit of revenge prompted her ?” 

“ No, Despair and Love.” 

“I wonder how he will feel when he sees them? 
How would he feel if he knew they were her work? ” 

“ And that the hand that painted them is cold in 
death! Ah, John, it is a mournful duty that I have 
to perform. This man was once our friend ; has re- 
ceived the gentle service of friendship at our hands ; 
has betrayed our trust; acted towards us as the false 
and the wicked act. I shrink from sending these — 
the last gifts that will ever pass between us and our 
once friend.” 

“You will feel relieved when you have sent them. 
Send no note, if he wishes to know whence they 
came, the servant can tell him.” So Mrs. Clifton 
sent them that same day as advised by her husband. 
She drew a long breath of relief when they were each 
carefully wrapped and sent away. It happened that 
Mr. Julius was out, when the pictures arrived at his 
mother’s house, and she, seeing that they were care- 
fully directed to her son, had them carried to his 
room. She tore a corner of the wrapping paper of 
one and saw that they were paintings. She thought 
they were some that he had ordered, and as she cared 
nothing for the fine arts, she did not examine them 
farther. So in the darkness of his chamber they 
awaited him, (as Felise awaited him in the dim cham- 
ber of death,) the four pictures! 


CHAPTER XXL 


“ The mill of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine,** 

If a man find his enemy will he let him go well away ? 

Bible. 

As Mr. Julius walked home that night, he had spent 
the evening with Miss Frytagg, he had a strange 
creeping sensation of his flesh several times. He 
heard, or thought he heard, the sound of feet behind 
him, as of some one following him. He looked back 
once or twice, but saw no one who seemed to be 
noticing him. Only a few of the shops were open, 
and the streets were almost deserted. At last, he had 
just passed a lamp, he glanced back, and gliding under 
the lamp was a tall female figure, wrapped in a shawl 
though the night was warm, closely veiled, though 
the night was dark. Mr. Julius was very much 
startled. He thought that he recognized the form, 
the height. He walked faster, the woman did the 
same ; he stopped, the woman stopped, too. Yi^knew 
that he was watched — followed — and he knew by 
whom. Coming to a corner, he turned it suddenly 
and slipped behind a pile of empty boxes, which a 
shop-keeper had left there. He crouched down so as 
not to be seen. The woman turned the corner and 
paused, she looked down the lighted street ; she threw 
back her veil. The light of the lamp fell full upon 
her face. 


120 


W A N I T A . 


Ha, he knew it, it was the face of poor Felise 
Cantani’s mother. That strange, dark face, those 
gleaming eyes, full of revengeful passion, he could not 
be mistaken. The cold sweat stood upon his face — to 
say that he was frightened would convey but a faint 
idea of Mr. Julius’ feelings; he endured the extreme 
of terror ; he knew what wrong he had inflicted upon 
this woman and her child ; he also knew the revenge- 
ful disposition, the fiery nature of the mother. She 
was capable (with that dagger which he saw shining 
in her belt) of stabbing him to the heart in any place 
where she might meet him, and braving the conse- 
quences ; she was capable of drugging him in his food 
or drink, of reaching her revenge through charms 
and necromancy even ; she knew strange secrets 
and arts, learned from her Gipsy kin; she would not 
scruple to use them, if needs be, to accomplish her 
object. Mr. Julius cowered, he dared not breathe 
until the woman, thinking that he had escaped her in 
the darkness, turned her steps down the unlighted 
street. He listened sometime before he crej)t out 
from his hiding place. 

If Mr. Julius, upon seeing the grave of Felise, had 
felt as if a finger — the finger of Fate — from that low 
grave, was pointing him out as a criminal, he felt now 
upon seeing /to woman as if the implicable Nemesis, 
who was to deliver him up to Justice, was even now 
upon his track ! 

It was late when Mr. Julius reached home. He 
took a round-about way for fear of meeting Madam 
Cantani. As he went to his room, his mother said : 


W A N I T A . 


I2I 


“Julius, your pictures have come.” 

“ What pictures, mother ?” 

“ Why, those you talked of ordering, Julius. I did 
not unwrap them.” 

Mr. Julius, when he entered his room, and saw the 
four pictures carefully wrapped and directed to him- 
self, was a little surprised. 

He had ordered nothing of the sort. 

He put his lamp on the table, and, cutting the cord 
unwrapped what happened to be the first picture. A 
look of wonder and terror overspread his face. Beau- 
tiful Felise, just as he had seen her years ago, and 
himself, looking as he had looked, perchance, when he 
had put the betrothal ring upon her delicate finger. 
With trembling hands and fast beating heart, he un- 
wrapped the next. The fair garden, and two walking 
there. As how it all came back to him — the day, the 
hour ! He hastened to open the next. Felise again, 
the desolation of sorrow and despair. 

His brow grew dark as he gazed His narrowed 
eyes expressed strange emotion ; the same face was 
before him, but changed ; sorrow had set the seal upon 
that youthful brow never to be removed ; the bloom 
was gone from that cheek ; those eyes had a wistful, 
weary look — Felise deserted, forsaken ! O pale, pa- 
thetic face ; sorrowful dark eyes — watching in vain ! 

Fiercely Mr. Julius tore the cover from the last 
one. 

“ Good God !” He staggered back. “ What is 
here ?” 

He took it all in at a glance ! The chariot, the 

6 


122 


W A N I T A . 


charioteer, the dead Felise, crushed under the chariot 
wheels. 

He staggered and fell. 

His mother heard him fall and rushed frightened to 
his room. She found the door locked. Her frantic 
cries soon drew her people around her ; they forced 
the door and found Mr. Julius on the floor in a swoon. 

He was soon restored to consciousness. 

When he had drank a glass of wine and rested a 
short time, he seemed almost as usual. 

“What could have caused you to faint, Julius ?” 
asked his mother. 

“ O fatigue, or a rush of blood to the brain, some 
thing of that sort.” He did not like to be questioned. 

“ Those pictures, what are they, Julius ?” 

“ Leave them alone, they are nothing.” 

He dismissed every one from his room. He wished 
to be quiet — to rest. He would sleep it off. 

His mother kissed him good night. 

That was the last kiss she ever impressed upon the 
living face of her unhappy son. 

As soon as he was alone, he turned again to the 
last picture. Mr. Julius dabbled in the fine arts him- 
self; he casta sharp, scrutinizing eye upon it. 

“ Who knows so much of my past history ? This is 
her mother’s work ; has she been here ?” (He had not 
enquired who brought the pictures.) He looked close- 
ly — part of this picture he discovered was the work 
of Felise, he knew her style, but it was finished by 
another hand not so skillful as hers.” 

“ The mother may return at any moment,” he 


W A N I T A . 


123 


thought ; “ she may even be hidden on the premises 
at this moment.’^ 

The thought struck a chill through his body. The 
thought became a conviction. “ Yes ! she has sent or 
brought these pictures here ; she certainly has discov- 
ered my home.” Her gleaming dagger, her fierce, 
revengeful spirit — ah ! he saw it all. 

The only safety wa^ in flight, immediate flight. 

He was thoroughly frightened. Hastily he began 
to pack in a valise a few articles that he would need. 

He had just finished when he heard a step on the 
stair ; he blew out his light and listened tremblingly. 

‘^Julius!” called his mother from the door. 

What a relief it was to hear her voice. 

‘‘ Julius, do you feel better ?” She was afraid of the 
little vial. 

“ Yes, mother ; I only need rest ; don’t trouble 
yourself” 

If you need anything, call me.” 

I will.” She went away satisfied. 

As soon as he was certain that she was out of hear- 
ing, had closed her own door, he crept softly out of 
his room. He had no desire for the little vial this 
night. 

There was a dark, resolute expression on his face, 
very like that it wore in the last picture, as valise in 
hand, he left the house ; he reached the gate ; he 
paused and looked back. 

No more of mother and the secret,” he muttered. 
“ I will go where Nemesis will not find me, where it 
will all be forgotten ?” 


124 


W A N I T A . 


Did he weep ? Did one tear dim his dark, angry 
eye, as he turned away ? Did he feel no regret at thus 
leaving forever, that poor, frail mother, who had toiled 
for him during his helpless infancy? who loved but 
only him, imperfect as she was ? The night was dark, 
the shadows were thick upon his face — let us hope that 
he wept. 

His dog ran to him, followed him to the gate, gam- 
boling around his feet, showing its brute affection. 

The last thing Mr. Julius did before he dipped into 
the shadows of that night, never to reappear upon 
that same spot of earth again, was in perfect harmony 
with his character ; he stooped down and fondled his 
dog, stroked him gently on the head : 

“ Do you love me, Ponto, poor fellow ! Good bye, 
Ponto !” 

No word of farewell for his loving mother, not at 
all, but his dog. It was just like Mr. Julius. 

The next morning, when Mrs. Brandon found that 
her son was gone, she was frantic with grief Miss 
Magg, in her emergency, knew' not what to do. Her 
thoughts turned upon Mrs. Clifton. 

“ She is kind, she will come !” So Miss Magg sent 
for her, telling her of the calamity that had befallen 
them, and of her sister’s condition, and begging her 
to come to them immediately. 

Mrs. Clifton thought of the letter^ of the dark secret, 
yet she went. Her nature was full of pitying tender- 
ness, everything was forgotten when she saw the 
wretched mother. 

Mrs. Brandon no longer raved, she sat and moaned 


W A N I T A . 


125 


as one in bodily pain. They tried in vain to soothe 
and comfort her. 

“ Let me go and find him ; I will never rest night or 
day until I find him. O, Julius, my son !” This was 
all that she would say, as she sat rocking to and fro. 
“ Let me go ! Let me go 

Miss Magg began to pack their things. 

“ It will have to be so,” she said, “ she will die here 
— perhaps a change of place will do her good.” 

Mrs. Brandon aroused herself a little when she un- 
derstood that they were going; she could not wait, 
she felt as if every moment was separating her farther 
and farther from her son ; that the chances of finding 
him were becoming fainter and fainter. 

At last when they were ready to go. Miss Magg 
requested Mrs. Clifton to take the four pictures home 
with her. She did not like to leave them there, and 
she did not wish the poor mother ever to see them 
again. So Mrs. Clifton had them carried to her own 
house, and hung again in that deserted chamber, 
where, long years after, blithsome little children — the 
children of Paul and Wanita Thornton — would hush 
their merry prattle and look up at them with wander- 
ing awe-struck eyes ; weaving them into the strange, 
fanciful stories and dreams of innocent childhood. 

We see that Mr. Julius, for the time being, has 
escaped Madam Cantani — his Nemesis, He has 
dipped into the shadow. She is foiled for the nonce. 
The morning after his flight, there might have been 
seen kneeling by the low headstone of Felise’s grave, 
the figure of a strange woman, and as she kneels, she 


126 


W A N I T A. 


mutters in a foreign tongue a few passionate words, a 
vow of vengeance : 

By the holy rood of Christ, I do szvear never, riever 
to rest, U7itil I wreak my just vengeance upon the mur- 
derer of my childf In lieu of a cross, she seals the 
vow upon the hilt of her dagger, cross shaped. 

In this wild woman, this wronged and tortured 
mother, revenge, burning, implacable revenge, has 
swallowed up all other passions. Love, hope, fear, are 
dead, only fierce revenge and pallid haunting memory 
remain ! Her features, once fair to look upon, have 
lost all womanly softness. Men meet her, and gazing 
into her dark, fiery eyes, and at the dagger gleaming 
at her side, pass on, giving her the way. And now, 
in the light of this shining May morning — this morn- 
ing vocal with songs of birds, and bright with dewy 
flowers — she kneels by that low grave, a breathing 
Nemesis, doubly devoted henceforth, body and soul 
to vengeance ! 

At her side, looking down upon her with wonder 
in his dark eyes, is a little child. He listens to her 
words, he sees her seal the vow with a kiss. When 
she is silent he speaks : 

“ Grandmamma, whose grave is this ?’’ 

The grave of your mother, my Claud ; your poor 
murdered mother!” 

“ Who murdered my mother?” 

There are tears in the dark eyes and a tremor in the 
childish voice. 

“ Your enemy and mine, Claud.” 

“ Who is he, grandmamma?” 


W A N I T A . 


127 


“ A traitor — a Judas, my child.” 

“ And truly you will kill him, with the dagger?” 

“ My little Claud,” and she holds the dagger before 
his tearful eyes, ” so surely as God lives, I will reach 
my revenge !” 

“ This Judas killed my dear mother — I will help 
you to kill him, Grandmamma !” he murmurs, and he 
clenches his little hand, ” we will find him !” 

“ We will find him ! we will never, never rest, until 
we find him !” and she holds the cross-shaped dagger 
hilt to his baby lips : “ You, too, now, my little son, 
are bound by a vow to seek him — to follow to the 
end !” 

She takes his hand in her’s and starts upon her 
mission. 

Late in that day, Madam Cantani, leading the boy 
by the hand, presented herself at Mrs. Clifton’s door. 
She introduced herself to Mrs. Clifton : 

“ I am Marguerite Cantani, the mother of Felise, 
the poor girl whom you befriended in her dying 
hours, and whom you buried among your own people. 
I come to thank you, kind lady, for all that you did 
for her, and to talk to you of her death.” 

Mrs. Clifton received her kindly. She had expect- 
ed this visit, but she was startled at the strange ap- 
pearance of the mother. The little child, too, only 
about four years old, impressed her strangely. His 
tiny figure, dressed in deep mourning, the crape upon 
his little hat, the mature, unchildlike expression of 
his young face, that looked as if the sorrow of his 
Grandmother had cast its shadow upon it, making 


128 


W A N I T A . 


it prematurely old, excited her interest. She took 
the small hand in her own : 

“ What is your name, my child 

“ Claudius Cantani, ma’am.’’ 

“ He is her son,” explained Madam, “ but he bears 
my name. It was his mother whose eyes you closed 
in death.” 

“ Yes, I was with her,” said Mrs. Clifton, sadly ; “ I 
heard her last words, her last request, which I have 
but just fulfilled,” and she gently told her of that last 
request and its fulfilment, omitting the effect the pic- 
tures had produced upon Mr. Julius. Madam Can- 
tani spoke : 

“ And you know where he lives ?” 

“ Where he lived — he is no longer here.” 

“ What ?” 

“ He disappeared last night, and no clue has been 
discovered by which to trace him.” 

“ He is flying from me^ and well he may. I will be 
revenged !” 

“ Leave him in God’s hands, dear Madam ! ‘ Ven- 
geance is mine, and I will repay it, saith the Lord.’ ” 

Madam Cantani turned to her : 

“ Life was sweet ” she said, “ to me and to my inno- 
cent child; we lived in peace and happiness until he 
came; he gained the confidence — the love of my 
daughter. For weeks and months he steadily pursued 
his object. He acted the consummate hypocrite, and 
when he asked my daughter’s hand in marriage, I 
thought that I was entrusting her happiness to the 
keeping of one who loved her. But, mark you, he 


W A N I T A . 


129 


proposed a private marriage. For reasons of his own, 
and for the interest of both, he said, he wished the 
marriage kept secret for a time. He had a friend of his 
own to bring a priest, to perform the marriage cere- 
mony in private. He intended that it should be a 
sham. The priest was a stranger to us, the friend and 
only witness besides ourselves, we did not even know 
his name, but the man was more honest than his prin- 
cipal ; he procured the services of a true priest and 
the marriage was valid. This I did not learn until 
after the death of Felise, and the traitor does not know 
it yet.^ He still believes the marriage null and void.” 

“ He left your daughter?” 

For some time after the marriage, he lived with us 

in our pleasant home in N , but at last a change 

came over him. He was moody and absent. My 
daughter wished the marriage made public. He 
refused. She urged it. At last he angrily told her 
that there had been no marriage — it was all a sham 
and the priest an imposter! I will pass over my 
daughter’s amazement and grief It is enough to say 
that he disappeared from our house that night, bearing 
with him our little hoard of gold, which had been 
entrusted to his care, and he has never returned.” 

She paused ; a deep sadness settled on her face ; 
her dark eyes lost their fire; her eye-lids drooped and 
her voice softened as she continued : 

“After the birth of my little Claude, we left our home; 
we roamed from place to place, scarce knowing what 
to do. Felise, never strong, began to fail in health. 
She wanted to see him once more. She wanted cer- 


130 


W A N I T A . 


tainty. He had declared that the marriage was null 
and void ; what if he had only done it to torture her ? 
We searched for him, for the priest — she never gave 
up the hope of finding him. At last we heard that he 
was here. I was prostrated by sickness, and she came 
here alone. During my sickness I heard of her death, 
through you. One day a priest — an itinerant priest — 
called to see me, drawn by my sufferings and my 
misfortunes, and into his sympathizing ear I poured my 
sorrows. Great was my surprise to find that he was the 
very priest who had performed the ceremony ! But, 
alas ! this proof came too late to comfort my poor 
Felise ! When I had sufficiently recovered, I resolved 
to be avenged upon this traitor — if it is with the point 
of this dagger! What I have heard and seen only 
confirms me in my purpose. This child shall bear my 
name, and the murderer of his mother shall suffer ! 
Will you tell me where those pictures are?” 

Mrs. Clifton led her to the room where they had 
been placed. 

When the little boy looked upon them, one by one, 
sobs shook his frame, but when his eyes fastened 
upon the last one, a wail of deep sorrow broke from 
his overcharged heart. 

“O mother! mother!” Madam Cantani with com- 
pressed lips and flashing eyes drew him away. 

“We will find him.’^ There was such rage in her 
voice that Mrs. Clifton spoke : 

“ O Madam ! promise me that you will leave the 
matter in God’s hands! It is a dreadful thing to seek 
for vengeance, to follow passion as a guide!” 


W A N I T A . 


I3I 

“ Kind, gentle lady, you know nothing of the storms 
of anger and sorrow that shake a soul like mine!” 
Her eyes blazed. “ I have been robbed of my only 
child, my sole treasure 1 How can I endure my 
wrongs ? God’s blessing rest upon you, kind lady. 
Good bye.” 

“ Come back again and tell me that you have 
changed your purpose, given up this mad quest, 
left it in your Maker’s hands. ” 

“ I zvill come to you again, friend and comforter of 
my dead ! and I will tell you how I deal with trai- 
tors !” and she was gone. 

“ Alas I yes,” murmured Mr. Clifton sadly. “ This 
Judas too, would have surely sold his master, only he 
would have made a sharper bargain with the high 
priests.” 

But Miss Pouch- mouth, how did she take the 
loss of Mr. Julius ? She did not believe it at first, 
she thought it was one of Mr. J. G. Smythe’s slow 
jokes : 

“ What a story, J. G. Smythe ; you ought to be 
ashamed.” 

By gad, he's sloped as sure as snuff!” replied the 
elegant J. G. Smythe. When at last she was con- 
vinced that it was true, Mr. Julius had indeed come 
up missing, she was a good deal hurt and somewhat 
angry. Her black eyes filled with tears. 

“ He was stich a nice beau ; it was real spiteful and 
mean of him to leave me so !” and she pouched out 
her mouth after the fashion of her people when any- 
thing went wrong. 


132 


W A N I T A . 


“ By gad ! Josephine, it’s just your luck !’’ was Mr. 
J. G. Smythe’s consolatory reply. 

“ Goodness gracious, Smythe, how could I help the 
man’s leaving?” 

“ Blast my eyes ! you need’nt have made such a 
big fool of yourself about him. Boys like to do their 
own courting.” 

“ La ! I do say Smythe, you are the very last per- 
son in the world who ought to be talking about 
people making fools of themselves, after the scan- 
dalous way you have acted yourself, about that hate- 
ful Mrs. Myrtle, and I do say” — 

Mr. J. G. Smythe cut her short by sailing out of the 
room with a glossy red nose and a pair of solfarino 
colored ears, very much insulted. He pouched out his 
mouth, mustache and all, and muttered, “ By gad !” 
and “ blast my eyes !” as he went. 

Miss Frytagg, however, was not long consoling 
herself for the loss of Mr. Julius. She recalled the 
milk-and-cider young gentleman, Mr. Phillip Cren- 
shaw, and he came, too, all his big talk and fast driv- 
ing notwithstanding. He was a little shy at first, his 
experience of the lady^s slipper being still pretty fresh 
upon his mind, but by-and-by he got upon his old 
footing in the pouch-mouth family, and the last 
glimpse we shall get of Miss Frytagg, she is dash- 
ing out of town in a cloud of dust and a blaze of 
jewels, taking Mr. Crenshaw to ride ; and close 
behind her, equally shining and happy, are the veri- 
table Mrs. Myrtle and Mr. J. G. Smythe. By “gad!” 
“ Consistency thou art a jewel !” 


W A N I T A . 


133 


CHAPTER XXII. 

All things end ; nothing ceases changing till it ends. 

Thomas Carlyle. 

Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow j 

Naught may endure but mutability. Shelley^ 

Nothing ceases changing till it ends ; good bye then 
to all thoughts of immutability. We sit by the banks 
of that beautiful river, where, in youth, our feet strayed^ 
The river is murmuring again its liquid song, but it 
falls now upon ears listening to a sadder music than 
flowed from it in our careless childhood. We look,, 
and above the graceful heads of spreading trees, the 
chimneys of the old house that once — long ago^ — 
echoed to the sound of many feet, “ when we were 
seven,” are sending their columns of blue smoke to 
the sky. Our thoughts, .sadly changed since we were 
of the merry inmates of that old home, turn back, and 
at the waving of memory’s wand, the past gives up its 
shadows ! They are all here — father, mother, sisters, 
brothers ! — but they are changing, changing, chang- 
ing, as we muse ; we cannot hold one steadfast image 
in the mind ! We look down ; the river murmurs 
through the whispering reeds ; it sings to the over- 
hanging beeches ; this sand-bank here, that curve 
yonder, shows that it too is paying tribute to muta- 
bility ! All things change !” and well for us if our 


134 


W A N I T A . 


memories, our pleasures, our loves, can, like 
autumn fruit, become more mellow, and more sweet, 
under the touch of time, while from out our fleeting 
mortal lives hatred and bitterness, like the vanishing 
smoke are swallowed up in a charity, as broad as the 
heavens ! 

Our Wanita, in her husband’s house, where she 
orders all things well,^’ has changed from the fair 
bride to the stately, graceful matron. 

Mr. Thornton has succeeded in many a good work 
for himself and others. 

Mr. Julius is forgotten in the fair city of C , 

where he did a brief service to evil. 

How quickly vanish our foot-prints from the shores 
of time ; how quickly the sound of our voices is for- 
gotten. Two years have passed by since Mr, Julius 
went away in secret, leaving his mother almost broken 
hearted. Two springs have seen the violets blossom 
upon the low grave where the forsaken wife sleeps 
under her maiden name; two years Mr. Julius, the 
evil -minded, is a wanderer ; the places that knew him 
know him no more. His mother has returned to her 

old home in C , wearily has she pined for his pres- 

encC"; vainly has she sought for him during these two 
sad years ; “ Hope deferred, rnaketh the heart sick 
her face has grown grey and old with sorrow; many 
a night and many a day has she listened for his foot- 
steps ; her eyes have grown dim with watching. No 
token ever came. But it is our business to follow 
him — to trace out his chequered course — to unravel 
the secret. 


W A N I T A . 


135 


In a sumptuously furnished parlor of a lordly man- 
sion in the suburbs of the beautiful Southern city of 

M , this balmy evening in spring, sit two men — 

one is far advanced in years, his hoary hair, his 
wrinkle*d visage, his tremulous voice, his bowed form, 
all show that he is on the mysterious verge, the 
shadowy boundary between two worlds ! His face is 
mild and benevolent in its expression ; his voice 
kind and gentle. The other is a young man, appa- 
rently not more than, thirty years of age ; his rich, 
dark hair, his fine glowing complexion, his erect figure, 
his clear, ringing voice, are in exact contrast with 
those of his aged companion. There seems to exist 
between these two men the strongest relations of 
friendship. The aged man’s face expresses the kind- 
est regard — the utmost confidence as he converses 
with his young friend. 

“ I am happy, Mr. Brandon,” .says the low tremu- 
lous voice, “in being able to leave my dear grand- 
daughter in the care of such a man as you are. I 
have this day deeded to her all the property that 
would have been her mother’s had she lived. This 
place and the property in Cuba will come into her 
possession at my death, together with certain money 
claims. The deeds to her mother’s property are in 
her own hands. I thought it best to arrange all these 
matters before the marriage.” 

“ As a mere question of convenience,” replied the 
ringing voice, “ I suppose it is best. After we are 
married there will be little time to attend to such 
matters.” 


136 


W A N I T A . 


“That is what I thought. Lola wishes to go im- 
mediately to Cuba, and thence to New York. You 
will necessarily be absent some time, and I am old. If 
anything should happen to me while you are absent, 

I am sure you will carry out my plans with regard to 
that church endowment. I am glad you agree with 
me so entirely in that.” The dark eyes of the young 
man narrow slightly, but he smiles, and says : 

“ Nothing could be nobler than your views in that 
matter.’’ 

“ I shall just leave it in your hands to carry out my 
plans, with any improvements that you may think 
best.” The tremulous voice dies to a whisper. The 
aged speaker does not see the side-long glance, the 
cunning, narrowing eye of his companion. Mr. Julius 
is observing with pleasure that the voice that is ad- 
dressing him is weaker, more tremulous, than usual. 
Every sign of failing is carefully noted. At this old 
man’s death the property will fall into his hands, to 
be used for the church at his discretion. Ha ! he sees 
with eager longing this ^glittering heap of gold (no 
paltry thirty pieces of silver such as that other Judas 
received, but a sum worth the price he is paying) 
almost within his grasp ! Only this one frail life be- 
tween him and his coveted treasure. Four score 
years have already laid their weight upon this frail, 
trembling frame. Mr. Julius carefully calculates its 
strength, how much it can yet endure ! But suppose 
this old man should drag on for years in this almost 
helpless condition. Ha ! the tempter is whispering 
in Mr. Julius’ ears. He knows more secrets than one! 


W A N I T A . 


137 


It must not be ! He speaks, and his voice is mild 
and bland. 

“ Heaven grant that you live long to perfect your 
good work with your own hands. But if God should 
ordain otherwise,” his voice is solemn and depress- 
ing, I do humbly promise to do all that I can to- 
wards carrying out your plans. I will obey your 
commands in it all.” The rustle of a lady’s silken 
dress interrupted the conversation. A young lady of 
exceeding beauty entered the room. Mr. Brandon 
arose from his seat and advanced, smiling, to meet 
her. She returned his salutation gracefully, though 
there was a little restraint in her manner as she took 
the chair he placed for her. She seated herself with 
a queenly air. Lola Riveis was a creole beauty. Her 
rich dark hair, “ sweet with the smells of all the sun- 
burnt south,” her full languishing eyes, her fine form, 
and the peculiarly rich creamy complexion which 
has made her style of beauty so famous, did not fail 
to excite the undisguised admiration of the young 
gentleman who bent his kindling glance upon this 
vision of loveliness. 

“ Lola, I have been telling Mr. Brandon that I have 
this day made you the titles to your mother’s pro- 
perty. Everything is done, and with it you have your 
old grandfather’s blessing.” 

“ Thank you, grandfather,” in a low musical voice. 

The old gentleman, wearied by the exertion of 
speaking, sank back, well pleased, in his easy chair, 
and the conversation devolved upon the young people. 
They talked of their plans — rather, Mr. Julius did — 


138 


W A N I T A . 


Lola listened. They were to take in all the pleasure 
possible in this bridal tour. 

“ I have long desired to visit Cuba,” said the gen- 
tleman, “ Indeed, I have often thought that I should 
like to reside there permanently.” — (Mr. Julius was 
thinking of Nemesis, and that Cuba might afford him 
a safe asylum.) 

” That is just my feeling — I lived there, in Havana, 
when quite a child, and my recollections are very 
pleasant — I shall certainly like Cuba.” (She thought 
of one who loved her in childhood — and who loved 
her still. Under the orange groves of Cuba the 
acquaintance began. The expression on her face 
softened — a dreamy smile hovered around her beauti- 
ful mouth. Her large eyes drooped with a soft 
sadness — far-thoughted was her look.) 

“ Dear Lola!” She started. The gentleman glanced 
at her keenly through his handsome, though narrow 
dark eyes. “ How long did you live in Cuba ? ” 

“ Eight or nine years — until my mother’s death.” 

“And you have friends there, relations, perhaps?” 

“Yes; several dear friends,” and she laughed 
lightly. There was something in her voice that jarred 
upon his nerves. 

can make any spot on earth charming,’’ 
he murmured, softly. “ Elysium is in your presence I” 

“ I am sorry then for those who, in the nature of 
things are obliged to be deprived of my presence. 
The loss of Elysium is no light loss.” 

“ My darling, and in the same ratio you may con- 
gratulate those who are to be happy at yo>ur side 


W A N I T A . 


139 


through life. Elysium is a great gain/’ and he drew 
his chair a little closer to hers. 

“ Gain is always pleasant, I believe,” and she 
changed her position slightly (as he laid her guitar 
on her lap), moving a little farther from him. She 
touched the sweet chords carelessly. 

"‘Sing, dear Lola.” 

She sang in a sweet, clear voice : 

“ Thou art so far and yet so near,” 

‘‘ Why do you sing that song, Lola ?” he asked 
when she ceased singing. 

“ O, I like it — Mr. Brandon.” She laid her guitar 
aside. Her old grandfather sat drowsing in his chair. 

Mr. Brandon. Do you believe that a curse will fall 
upon any one who is guilty of falsehood — of breaking 
a solemn vow?” Mr. Julius replied — thinking of 
her promise to him — coerced and over-persuaded as 
he knew she had been by her aged grandfather : 

“ Of course ; a curse is sure to follow falsehood,, 
dear Lola,” in a canting, solemn voice. ” God„ my 
darling, will only bless the true!' 

'' That is just my opinion.” 

“ Of course ; you are always right, my love ; yoti 
have only to obey the dictates of your own pure 
conscience to do right.” 

I am glad you think so, Mr. Brandon ; but, I am 
afraid you will not always think so well of me.” She 
smiled brightly. He glanced furtively at her again. 
There was something in her manner this evening that 
did not please him — that excited a vague suspicion in 


140 


W A N I T A . 


his mind. The old gentleman aroused himself, and 
after a little more desultory conversation, Mr. Brandon 
rose to take his leave. He took the lady’s passive 
hand in his. He pressed it fondly to his lips (as he 
had pressed many a fair hand before), and gazing lov- 
ingly into her dark, glorious eyes, he murmured 
softly : 

“ Good-night, darling.” 

There was a slight, a scarcely perceptible curl of 
the full red lip of the proud creole, as she replied : 

“ Good-night.” 

The sound of Mr. Julius’ footsteps had scarcely 
died away from the door of that stately suburban 
mansion, ere the silken robes of the fair creole rustled 
in the moon-lit garden walks. She flitted towards 
the dark shade of a beautiful magnolia tree that stood 
in the centre of the garden where someone awaited for 
her. Fernando Verdell threw away his half consumed 
cigar and advanced to meet her. He clasped her in 
his arms, and impressed a fervent kiss upon her 
smooth, glowing cheek. 

” It is all right, Fernando dear,” she said, laughing, 
her sweet, low, musical laugh. “ Grandfather, influ- 
enced by this dupe of mine, this canting hypocrite, 
Mr. Brandon, has given me the deeds to my mother’s 
property. I have my inheritance, and now — 

“ You are willing at last to marry the man who 
loves you ? ’’ 

“ Yes, Fernando, and no other.’^ 

“ Oh, my beloved ! I could wish that you had 
gone with me without doing this thing 1 ” 


W A N I T A . 


I4I 

He spoke half sadly. She put up her lovely red lip. 

“ Fernando, it is only just and right that I have my 
mother’s property. Grandfather was wrong to exact 
such promises of me.” 

“ Surely, love, but would it not have been better 
for you to have gone with me — I have enough for 
both — and waited until you were of age, when your 
rights could not have been withheld ? ” 

“ They would not let me wait, Fernando ; they 
have even set the time— a week from now ! ” 

Fernando Verdell looked into her beautiful dark 
eyes, suffused with tears. 

“ Your grandfather will forgive me for taking his 
darling away ! Will you go with me to-morrow 
evening ? ” 

“ Yes, Fernando.” 

” Meet me here, sweetheart, at nine o’clock ; I will 
have all the arrangements made.” 

“ I will.” 

“ Now, good-night, sweet ; pleasant dreams to you, 
and God preserve you, my own beloved.” 

He pressed a reverent, loving kiss upon her fair 
up-turned face, and they parted. He watched her 
graceful figure until it disappeared on the portal of 
the silent house, then walked slowly, thoughtfully 
away. 

So, other plans are being laid atop of yours, Mr. 
Julius ! 


142 


WAN IT A. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

He is justly served, 

It is a poison tempered by himself. 

Shakspeare. 

The next evening, Mr. Brandon called as usual at 
the suburban mansion. The full moon hung low in 
the east when he entered the grounds of Mr. Rivers. 
He did not observe, as he closed the gate, that a 
woman, leading a little boy by the hand, was slowly 
moving on the opposite side of the street. If he had 
noticed them he would not have thought that they 
were tracking him. The woman never turned her 
head, and nothing in her manner would have sug- 
gested the idea that she observed Mr. Julius at all — 
much less that she was watching him. 

Mr. Julius brought some choice reading matter to 
Mr. Rivers ; he was very thoughtful in this respect. 
The old gentleman sat dozing in his chair, but he 
.awoke as Mr. Julius was announced. 

“ Tell Miss Lola to come here,” he said to the ser- 
vant, and sat down quite pleased to talk with his 
visitor, until she should make, her appearance. He 
was delighted with the book Mr. Julius brought, and 
with the kindly motive which prompted his young 
friend to bring it. The servant was gone some time. 
He returned at last. 

Miss Lola has gone out, sir. The maid found 


W A N I T A . 


H3 

this note on her table.” Mr. Rivers feceived the 
note with trembling hands. There was a look of 
consternation on his face as he read. Mr. Julius stand- 
ing with darkened brow watched the effect which the 
reading of the note produced. 

“ Good heavens !” cried the old man, placing the 
note in Mr. Julius’ hands — ” read !” Mr. Julius 
glanced hurriedly along the lines : 

“ Dear Grandfather : Please forgive me that I have 
gone away to marry the man I love. You know I 
have long been betrothed to him. Mr. Brandon, 
himself, says that a curse will follow broken vows. 
Forgive your loving granddaughter, who would die 
rather than give her hand without her heart. 

“Your affectionate child, 

“ Lola Rivers.” 

As Mr. Julius read this dainty epistle, the cloud 
darkened on his brow — his eyes narrowed to a black 
line — yet he finished it, folded it neatly, replaced it 
in the old man^s hand, but uttered not a word. 

“ Well ” said Mr. Rivers, “ Mr. Brandon, I am very 
sorry! I never was so deceived.” His voice shook. 
‘T am to blame 1 What she says about Fernando 
Verdell is true. I broke off the engagement — or 
thought I did. Ah 1 well ; we never can tell what the 
sex is up to 1” Mr. Julius listened — the grandfather 
was angry — but not so angry as he would have liked 
to have seen him. 

“ The property will all be hers, will it not ? — this 
house ?” 


144 


W A N I T A . 


O, yes ; is her rightful inheritance. She would 
have had it any way when she came of age. But how 
she has deceived me.” 

Mr. Julius bit his lip — glanced around. This 
beautiful house” thought he, “these elegant grounds 
GONE !” 

“ You don^t intend pursuit?” 

“ What would be the use, replied the grandfather. 
“ They are married by this time, and Fernando Ver- 
dell is not a man to trifle with. To tell the truth, if 
he were not a Protestant I would like the young man. 
But to think of my grandchild marrying a heretic is 
harrowing to my soul !” 

Mr. Julius took his leave presently. The old man 
followed him to the door, with words of condolence 
and sympathy. 

When Mr. Julius walked out into the street, he 
was too angry — too much occupied with his own 
thoughts, to notice that as he emerged from the shade 
two figures — a woman and .a child, flitted stealthily 
behind him. He did not look back but walked hur- 
riedly along the street for some time — borne along, 
without an object, by the force of the rage that 
burned within him. His soul called for revenge — his 
cowardly, cruel nature craved a cowardly, cruel 
revenge upon those who had outwitted him — his 
brain was so fired at first that his thoughts took no 
definite shape. At last he paused — he began to 
think. He did not look back to see that the woman 
and child, now close to him, crept behind a pillar and 
stood perfectly still in the shadow — she grasping her 


W A N I T A . 


145 


dagger-hilt — the boy looking at her with his strange, 
wistful eyes. Mr. Julius deliberated — he looked at 
his watch by the moonshine. He read the hour — 
ten. He walked into a shop and bought two large 
bottles of kerosene oil, and coming out of the shop 
began to retrace his steps. The woman and child in 
their turn took refuge in a shop. They watched until 
he passed — walking resolutely back the way he had 
come. After he passed by they come out and followed 
him. He did not once look back. The woman’s first 
thought was to creep upon him and plant her dagger 
in his heart ! O how she had longed and waited for 
her revenge ! But his strange conduct had excited 
her curiosity. She had found him. He suspected 
nothing. She was sure of him. She could afford to 
play at the game of cat and mouse a little — watch 
him awhile before she struck. He soon reached the 
residence of Mr. Rivers. The house was dark and 
silent. It stood up grandly in the white, still moon- 
shine — the dark green trees around it — palms, mag- 
nolias, oranges. Mr. Julius entered the enclosure. 
He crept under the thick shrubbery ; the woman and 
child following, but keeping him always at such a dis- 
tance that they could watch him. He paused sud- 
denly, frightened at a statue that stood upon the 
terrace. He had seen it there many a time before, 
but now it startled him for an instant. He mistook 
it for a living creature. Even after he remembered 
what it was he could not divest himself of a sort of 
fear, and looked into its white face, its stony eyes, as 
he passed, almost expecting it to move. So cowardly 
7 


146 


W A N I T A . 


is guilt. The woman’s dark eyes dilated as she 
watched. He reached the wall. He stood upon the 
piazza. Ha! what is he doing? He listened for a 
moment; he looked around in every direction. He 
poured the contents of his bottles along the wall over 
the piazza. Again he turns his face — the woman 
and child crouching under the shrubbery see him — his 
attitude, the expression of his face I He is frightened 
at the deed he is about to do I He strikes a match ; 
he sets the pile on fire I 

The flarnes darted over the piazza, flashed along the 
walls — blazed up I But he was hurrying away. He 
almost touched the woman as he fled, leaping the 
palings he ran lightly, swiftly down the street. Madam 
Cantani was taken by surprise — thrown off her guard 
by his rapid movements. She followed as quickly as 
she could, crying, fire. When she gained the street she 
saw him moving slowly along, evidently intending to 
disarm suspicion by his quiet, leisurely manner. Soon 
the cry of “ fire ” was taken up by an hundred voices. 
Mr. Julius still moved leisurely along. People ran 
by him, jostling him as they w'ent. The woman and 
child kept him in sight. There was a strange ex- 
pression on Madam Cantani’s face. She had changed 
her plans. The game of cat and mouse was to be 
played out — she was thinking. 

“ I have seen him commit the crime of arson,” she 
muttered. “The laws of this great Republic recog- 
nize that crime, if not the other. I will have him ar- 
rested. He will still be in my power.^’ 

All the while the fire burned fiercely. A light 


W A N I T A . 


H7 


wind rose and carried the flames with great rapidity 
over the building; in a few minutes the house was in 
a blaze. 

He moved on. He entered the center of the city. 
She saw him enter a large hotel, and turning he 
stood with a crowd of people on the piazza, looking at 
the fire. He disappeared in the house. She had 
tracked the fox to his den. Madam Cantani was ac- 
quainted with an officer of the city. She went to the 
door of a house and knocked. 

“ I wish to see Mr. Mason on urgent business.” 

Walk in.” The officer soon entered the room. 
She told him her story in a few, clear words. 

“What! not the house now burning?” he cried. 

“Yes, it is but a short time since I and this little boy 
saw him commit the deed. If he is not arrested to- 
night, you will look for him in vain to-morrow.^’ 

“ Do you know where he lives?” 

“I do.” 

Mr. Mason drew up a warrant which Madam 
signed. He then gave the warrant to an officer 
whom he had sent for, who, with Madam Cantani, 
was soon walking rapidly towards the hotel where 
Mr. Julius boarded. Madam Cantani is greatly 
changed since she knelt at the grave of her child two 
years ago. Her hair, so rich and dark then, is sil- 
very white. Her face is sharp and thin. Much sor- 
row has wrought a fearful change in her. And if Mr. 
Julius should meet her, face to face, he would never 
know her. But she has not forgotten her vow. Her 
hatred and thirst for revenge have lost none of their 


148 


W A N I T A . 


intensity. The little boy has grown, too, but his face 
has the same unchildlike expression — the shadow of 
old sorrow on its infantile beauty. He, too, remembers 
the vow, and understands the work that is being done. 
While they hasten to point out the criminal, the 
house still burns, for being situated some distance in 
the outskirts of the city, the fire companies did not 
reach it in time to render any assistance — the house 
was falling in when the engines arrived. 

The hotel, whither Madam Cantani had tracked 
Mr. Julius, was crowded with people, all looking at 
the fire. But Mr. Julius was not among them. The 
officer went to the landlord. 

“ Brandon ? Yes ; second floor, room number ten, 
to the right.” And he bustled away. 

The officer, followed by the woman and child, 
walked noiselessly along the carpeted hall. 

“ Seven, eight, nine, ten. Here it is.” 

The door was slightly ajar. They looked in. The 
room was lit by the flames of the burning house. Mr. 
Julius stood before a window looking out. The glare 
of the fire fell upon his face. The woman whispered: 

“ It is he.” 

So intent was Mr. Julius on watching the flames, 
gloating over the ruin he had wrought, that he did 
not notice the entrance of the officer. His clear-cut 
face, ruddy with the glare of that awful fire ; his dark, 
evil eyes gleaming with gratified revenge, he stood, a 
very Nero, triumphing in his wickedness. The officer 
drew near ; the heavy hand, armed with the law, was 
raised. The woman watching at the door, her white 


W A N IT A . 


149 


hair streaming in the light, her pale face lit with a 
fierce, triumphant hatred ; the little child, pale with 
fear and pity, saw all. Mr. Julius saw nothing. 

“ You are my prisoner! ” 

The heavy hand has descended. 

“ Good God ! How dare you 1 ” Mr. Julius turns 
fiercely. “ What does this mean ? ” 

The officer pointed to the burning house. 

“ You are arrested for the crime of arson.’' 

Mr. Julius turned deadly pale; he trembled from 
head to foot. 

“ Who is my accuser ? ” 

The officer unfolded the warrant and held it before 
his eyes. He read by that dread light, with terror 
and amazement : 

“ Marguerite Cantani.” 

Nemesis caught the child’s cold hand in hers, and 
glided away unseen. Mr. Julius sank, almost fainting, 
into a chair. He shivered with mortal dread; his 
faculties seemed paralyzed. It was some time before 
the officer could get him away to prison. 

Mr. Julius was led to prison, and when he was se- 
curely locked within its gloomy walls, he found time 
to think. He was like a caged panther; filled with 
rage and fear, and as he paced to and fro in his cell, 
there was something timid and stealthy in his tread^ 
and dark as was his cell, he frequently started, looked 
around as if he heard, or suspected someone of creep- 
ing upon him I The night was full of terrors. The 
face and voice of the lost Felise came back to him. 


W A N I T A . 


150 

He imagined that her dark, mournful eyes pursued 
him with their piteous, pleading gaze ! The name of 
“ Marguerite Cantani,” had aroused all the fearful 
shadows of his evil life. Superstitious terror took 
hold on him as he thought of her, his mad Nemesis, 
his evil genius! He felt the coils of fate tighten 
around him ; her unrelenting fingers drew the invis- 
ible threads 1 Where could she have been concealed 
to have witnessed his crime? How long had she 
been following him and watching him ? Over what 
unseen dangers had he unconsciously passed that 
night? Ah! when the thought of her gleaming dag- 
ger, her eyes burning with the fire of a fierce insanity, 
born of hate ; (all hatred is insane) the dismal prison 
walls assumed a sort of friendly air ; they were his protec- 
tors. If he could not escape from them, no more could 
she pass them to reach him with her dire vengeance. 

As Mr. Julius thus paced his narrow cell, baffled, 
stricken with fear, and clutching the little vial in his 
desperate hand, (for the officer who took from him 
his pistol and knife overlooked that) Madam Cantani 
sat gloomily brooding in her chamber, the dark-eyed 
boy at her side. There was a half regretful expression 
on her stern and haggard face. She had placed him 
in prison, out of the reach of her dagger’s point. (So 
far were the thoughts of these two human beings 
akin.) What, if by some quirk of the law, some flaw 
in the evidence, he should escape — give her the slip 
as he had done before ? She was old ; weary of this 
long search and watch. Why had she let him escape 
her, to risk the uncertain chances of the law ? She 


W A N I T A . 


I5I 

regretted that she had not carried out her first reso- 
lution of striking her dagger to his heart, thus fulfill- 
ing her vow. No sleep visited her that night. The 
o’er-wearied child slept in his little bed. The lamp- 
light fell upon his face. Pacing up and down the 
room in her restlessness, Madam paused at his bed- 
side and looked down upon him. He sobbed in his 
sleep, and there were tears upon his long, dark eye- 
lashes. She stooped and kissed him. 

“ Sweet sleeper, it is iox you I live.’’ Her thoughts 
seem softened by the touch, the sight of his innocent 
child-face. She sat down and wrote a letter to Mrs. 
Clifton. She told her of the long search, of the arrest, 
that he was safe for this time from the dagger’s point. 

Mrs. Clifton, in the distant city of C , received 

that letter. Her first thought was of the poor, sinful 
mother. We have said that Mrs. Brandon, after fruit- 
less search and weary wandering, (hatred is more per- 
sistent than love) had returned to C , and occupied 

the old home, where memories of her beloved son 
clustered — memories that tortured her, but still she 
clung to them. Mrs. Clifton, regardless of the dark- 
ness, the shame that hung over that house, moved by 
a deep commiseration for the woman’s sufferings, lost 
no time in taking the news of Mr. Julius’ situation to 
his mother. She might have sent the letter and let it 
tell the tale, but her tender spirit shrank from inflict- 
ing unnecessary pain. She softened the blow. He 
was in prison. His mother would see him again. 
Perhaps he would prove innocent of the crime of 
which he was charged. 


152 


W A N r T A . 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“ The end is come of pleasant places. 

The end of tender words and faces, 

The end of all — the poppied sleep ! ” 

Mr. Julius Brandon was arrested for the crime of 
arson. It turned out that he was tried for the more 
heinous one of murder also. Old Mr. Rivers was 
burned to death in his house. His remains were 
found among the debris. The fire burned fiercely, 
and the remote situation of the house made it long 
before efficient help was obtained. The house was 
half consumed before the frightened servants discov- 
ered that the master had not made his escape. Efforts 
were made to reach him ; he was not in his room, 
and the flames prevented farther search. It was sup- 
posed that upon being awakened he had sought 
egress through the front part of the house, and, in 
his confusion, failed to find his way out. Perhaps the 
flames had spread so rapidly that on trying to retrace 
his steps his way was intercepted, and he was either 
smothered by the smoke, or caught up by the flames. 

The trial was not a long one. Madam Cantani’s 
evidence, with that of the shop-keeper, who had sold 
the kerosene oil, (the bottles were found and identified) 
soon brought the matter to a conclusion, notwith- 
standing the fact, that Mr. Julius had engaged in his 
defence, the best talent of the bar. 


W A N I T A . 


153 


A jury of his countrymen, after a brief absence 
from the Court room, brought in their verdict of — 

“ Guilty of arson and murder in the first degree.” 

The solemn death sentence was then pronounced. 

When the venerable^ virtuous Judge arose to perform 
this sad duty, more than one person in that vast awe- 
struck crowd remarked the strange resemblance 
between the Judge and the prisoner, as they stood 
there confronting each other. Their profiles — that of 
the venerable, virtuous ]udgQ, and that of the handsome, 
dark-eyed prisoner, standing erect, defiant, before him, 
were the same, fac-similes ! So the solemn sentence 
was pronounced in a tremulous, impressive voice, by 
the aged Judge, concluding with these dreadful 
words : 

“You shall be hung by the neck, until you are 
dead ! dead ! ! dead ! ! ! May God have mercy on 
your soul !” 

And with head erect, though his lips were pale and 
compressed, and his brow dark and troubled, the pris- 
oner walked back, with ringing steps, to his cell, 
while the aged Judge, strangely shaken, sank back 
upon his seat. 

The next morning when the jailor went to carry 
breakfast, he rapped at the grated cell several times. 
All was silent. He called aloud — no answer. He 
cautiously opened the door and looked in, and, lying 
on his bed, apparently in a deep sleep, was the pris- 
oner. The jailor shook him by the shoulder, but 
could not arouse him. He sent for the jail physician, 
but before he arrived the contest was over. 


154 


W A N I T A . 


The last struggle between the dread narcotic and the 
human will had ended ! 

The narcotic had triumphed at last, and Mr. Julius 
had escaped the sentence — reaching death from off the 
knees of murder !” 

In the cell was found a note for the Judge, it was 
enclosed in an envelope, with age, and directed 

in faded ink to the mother of Mr. Julius; above his 
mother’s name Mr. Julius had written, in his own neat, 
tasteful hand, the name of the venerable, virtuous 
Judge ! 

The note was sent, and the Judge obeyed its call. 

In the meantime, brought there by the letter of 
Madam Cantani, written about the time of the arrest, 
Mrs. Brandon had arrived at the jail. It was her mis- 
fortune to reach there just after the death ; and when 
venerable, virtuous Judge entered the prison, with 
blanched face and tottering steps, she sat moaning by 
the head of the corpse — mourning as one without 
hope ! 

And there they met, after these many, many years 
— their dead between them ! — these hoary sinners ! They 
looked each other in the face in anguish of soul unut- 
terable ! And that strange resemblance — strange no 
longer, between father and son, came out strong and 
clear under the hand of the great artist — Death ! The 
profile, fine Greek, of the venerable, virtuous Judge, 
and the profile, also fine Greek, of the dead felon, were 
the same. The dark frown was fixed on the dead 
man’s clay, the beautiful lips slightly apart, showed 
the edges of the fine, white, perfect teeth. The Judge’s 


W A N I T A . 


155 


lips, very like^ were also apart, but they uttered no 
sound ! He stood with a vacant look in his eyes, 
several times he essayed to speak. 

At last, in hollow accents : ■ 

“ You shall be hung by the neck, until you are dead 
dead ! ! dead ! ! ! May God have mercy on your soul !’* 
came in slow, solemn tones from his half-palsied 
tongue. 

The shock, the horror had touched his brain ! With 
a piercing shriek the woman fell fainting at the head 
of the corpse ! 

* ^ :}£ * 

Years after this death in the prison an old, old man, 
followed always by a faithful servant, might have been 
seen wandering with weary, restless feet over the city 
— a driveling, harmless madman, a wreck in mind and 
body — this venerable, virtuoi/s Judge. And as he tot- 
tered along, affronting the glad sunshine with his hag- 
gard, wasted visage, he was often heard to mutter to 
himself : 

You shall be hung by the neck, until you are dead ! 
dead ! ! dead ! ! ! May God have mercy on your soul.” 

Of all his vast stores of learning, of all his know- 
ledge of the English Law, only this solemn sentence 
remained. 

So, Mr. Julius “went to his place.” 

His birth was a shame ; his life was a tissue of folly 
and crime ; his death was a horror. It would have 
been better if he had never seen the light ! 

“ The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind 
exceedmgly small T 


156 


W A N I T A . 


In an obscure corner of the grave-yard at C , 

the grave-yard where Felise, the deserted wife, takes 
her rest, was Julius Brandon buried. Without tolling 
of bell, or chanting of hymn, or reading of funeral 
service for the dead, his stricken mother laid him 
there. Neither head-stone or shaft marked the spot, 
but gentle nature soon covered the low mound of 
freshly turned clay with humble wild flowers and 
waving grave-yard grasses. The heart that delighted 
in evil, the brain that planned iniquity, are quiet 
enough now. In his dark house let him sleep until 
the sounding of the last trump. 

“ That far-off divine event, to which the whole 
creation moves,” shall call both great and small to 
stand before God. 



^ STORIES 


Timothy Timbershins 


I 


i 



\ 


f 



J 

( » 


% 



STORIES OF TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


STORY I. 

In the mountainous part of South Carolina there 
lived (how long ago we will not tell) a queer little 
specimen of the “biped man,” in the person of Timo- 
thy Timbershins. Timothy was a weazen-faced, hump- 
backed little fellow, who got about with surprising 
ease upon a pair of very unreliable looking legs, but 
he was stout of heart, if not of limb, and greatly 
prided himself upon his powers of endurance. The 
“ boys’’ jeeringly called him “ Timothy Pipestems.” 
But he asserted that the “ wiriness of his limbs,” was 
a great advantage in walking. Though Timothy was 
a New Englander by birth, the fact of his having 
wondered so far from the scene of his nativity was by 
no means a proof of his possessing the traits of a 
genuine, pushing, enterprising Yankee. The truth of 
the matter was, according to hints dropped from his 
own conversation, it was more than probable that in 
leaving his native land he had acted upon the time- 
honored precept that “ prudence is the better part of 
valor,” and he had retreated from the too rigid rule 
of a strong-armed, hawk-nosed, sharp-tongued female 
descendant of “ Plymouth Rock,” whose matrimonial 
joke had become a little too burdensome. Mrs. Pru- 
dence Tabiatha Timbershins was a name at which to 


i6o 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


tremble, and Timothy fully realized that fact. “ With 
fear in both his heels,” his retreat was pretty rapid at 
first, he cleared the “ sass patch ” and garden hedge 
at a flying leap, but as he got farther and farther from 
the scene of his trouble, he recovered confidence. He 
felt himself pretty secure at last when he settled down 
in this remote, quiet corner of the earth. In fact all 
feelings of uneasiness left him; he was not haunted by 
even the ghost of a fear of recapture, for a rumor had 
reached him (there is always a vehicle for such news) 
that Mrs. Prudence Tabiatha, after a stout resistance, 
had succumbed to the grim reaper, Death, and gone 
ito her reward. Peace to her ashes!” quoth Timothy 
with a smile. All this happened so long ago, how* 
ever, that the “ oldest inhabitant ’’ hardly remembered 
anything about it. 

Timothy, at the time our story begins, had ac- 
quired considerable reputation among his humble 
neighbors as a root doctor and a “ conjuror.” Indeed 
he regarded himself as quite a thorn in the side of the 
nearest practicing physician, whom he annoyed by 
meddling with his practice every opportunity that 
offered. If a patient died Timothy was sure to say 
that if /z^had managed the case the result would prob- 
ably have been different. If one got well, he was 
equally certain to mix himself up with the cure. He 
was always circulating in the neighborhood of the 
afflicted in company with a bundle of herbs and a box 
of “ magic ointment,” cunger truck,” as his credu- 
lous patients called it, which he pretended would heal 
all the diseases that “ flesh is heir to.” To the exer- 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


6 


cise of his gift or skill or whatever he was pleased to 
call it, Timothy was indebted for the distinctive title 
of doctor, or “ doc/^r (with a strong emphasis on the 
“ ter") by which he had come to be pretty well known. 
Many a man earns it with less labor of brain and 
weariness of flesh. But the “ docter was rarely 
heard to complain. Indeed it was rather a matter of 
boasting with him that he gathered his herbs labori- 
ously from the deep valleys and the dizzy mountain 
steeps. He looked with scorn upon the easy, slothful 
life of the “ regular,” whose prescriptions could be so 
easily filled at the nearest drugstore. 

Nature had endowed Timothy Timbershins with a 
very vivid imagination, which had been fostered by his 
wild and wondering life into a passion for the marvel- 
ous. He was gifted with what in auld Scotland” 
would have been called “ second sight,” and in his 
solitary rambles he saw and heard (if his word was. tO' 
be taken), things that “ are not dreamed of in our 
philosophy.” He was a little crack-brained. He had 
a thousand theories, strange, wild, fanciful, whimsical 
as the case might be, especially about the origin and 
nature of diseases, and being as loquacious as he was 
imaginative, he let no opportunity to set forth his 
theories pass unimproved. Around the humble but 
hospitable hearths of his patrons he dealt them out 
along with his ‘"cunger” and herb teas, and by way 
of explanation or illustration, he often related items of 
his own experience, wonderful enough to test the 
credulity of his most accommodating hearer. 

One day — it was in the ” lonesome October ” — 


i 62 timothy timbershins. 

Timothy left his cabin among the hills and took the 
road to Caesar’s Head. He had need of certain herbs 
that grew in the vicinity of that mountain, and the 
season for gathering them would soon be over. He 
trudged along, his basket on his arm. He did not 
follow the public road all the way, but shortened 
his walk by taking any by-way that pleased him, for 
he knew his ground very well. Several farm houses 
were passed. Not very far from the foot of the 
mountain he passed a cabin. When he was near the 
door a frousy, haired shrewish-voiced woman put her 
head out and cried : 

“Mister, have you seed anything of my man? ” 

“Really, madam, I don’t know that I am ac- 
quainted with the gentleman.’’ 

“ Why,” she cried “ its Bill Skelton, he’s a red-hared 
far skin’d man. I thought you mout a seed him as 
you corned up the road.’’ 

“ I saw several men about a quarter of a mile from 
here; they were playing marbles under a tree. I be- 
lieve one of them had red hair.’’ 

“ Yes, I haint no doubt about it,” replied she 
angrily. “ I jess knowed he’d be at it. Ten to one 
he’s a betten, too ! Playing marvels is jist as bad as 
cards, and haint fit for a professor. He’s jis jined the 
church, and a member as kin read the Bible, to be 
warin out his close and shoes playing marvels — ort ter 
be ashamed! Bill knows I don’t allow it to him! 
I’ve told him, an told him, till I’m tired. I’ll jiss put 
the rocks to him, so I will 1 ’’ She came out with 
her bonnet on, “ he’s slipped off frum me, but I’ll 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


63 


fetch him back ! I’ll lam him, so I will !” and she 
disappeared down the road like a whirlwind. “Well!” 
soliloquized Timothy, “ Til wager this one never at- 
tended a woman’s rights meeting 1 Shrewish wives 
are not confined to New England, by any means. Its 
instinctive with the sex.” And he trudged on, mentally 
congratulating himself upon his freedom from that 
kind of rule, and leaving the “ red-hared ” man to his 
fate. 

Timothy had not gone far when he was a little sur- 
prised to see approaching him, followed by her two 
dogs, Mrs. Sarah Cross — “ Miss Sary,” as she was 
popularly called. As she strided along by him, he 
gave her his most Chesterfield-like bow, which she 
acknowledged by a nod. He had a good deal of 
curiosity concerning her, and after she passed he 
turned slyly to take another look — he caught her in 
the same act. Yes, looking back at /zm Now poor 
little Timothy was only a man^ and straightway his 
vanity put it up that she was interested in him — in 
other words about half smitten with the tender pas- 
sion. He did not wish to encourage false hopes in 
Mrs. C — , though it flattered him to think she was 
“taken with him.’’ So he walked on with great digni- 
ty, but did not look back any more.* ''Miss Sary ” 
was a widow of uncertain age, not “ fat, fair and forty,” 
but h^r charms were, what Dickens would have 
called “scraggy.” Her “man” had “ died out” and 
left her possessor of a little farm, a very unruly tem- 
per, a pair of snarling worthless curs, and an old law 
book. She reigned in her “ castle ” guarded by her 


164 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


curs, and guided by the old law book, a terror to 
small offenders whom she got the “ heels of.” She 
was, what in California would have been called, a 
genuine “ Pike.” She had looked back at Timothy, 
but he was mistaken as to her motive for doing so. 
She had seen him (and heard of him,) prying about 
the corners of her fences, and up and down the little 
brooklet that ran through her field, and she was 
anxious to catch him in a legal trap, to make an ex- 
ample as a “ trespasser.” “ The penalty of the law,” 
hung over his unconscious head for the gathering that 
last basketful of “ yaller root ” from her brookside. 

Timothy began to ascend the mountain. He fol- 
lowed the well kept public road now, as easier walk- 
ing. He wished to see the shadow of the “ pea-fowl” 
on the rock, that strange freak of nature. At a cer- 
tain time of the day, a perfect picture on the rock may 
be seen — a pea-fowl of gigantic size. It is made by 
the projecting rocks that cast their shadows on the 
mountain side. 

He would return by another route. He had forti- 
fied himself as usual, by taking a lunch and his pipe 
and tobacco, for he expected to be gone all day. Up 
the rambling zig-zag road he trudged, higher and 
higher into the region of mist and clouds. Ever and 
anon a turn in the road or an opening in the thick 
forest, would disclose a wonderful world of billowy 
mountains and far extending plains. Timothy made 
frequent pauses in his journey; sometimes sitting 
upon a projecting rock he would light his pipe by the 
aid of a sun-glass or lens, which he carried for that 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 165 

purpose, and take a quiet rest, enjoying the cool 
bracing breezes that seemed to spring up from the 
dark ravines that opened at his feet, or came whisper- 
ing down from the rocky hights above his head, 
bearing a blessing on their wings. How sweetly on 
his ear, too, fell the tinkling of innumerable bells, 
above, below, afar and anear. Their varied tones 
blended in a “ discordant melody ” that was perfect 
music. 

Here a sparkling little stream would tumble across 
his road and make haste, with foam and noise, to hide 
itself in some ivied cove, or down some rocky preci- 
pice, leap suddenly out of sight. Thus loitering and 
resting, now gathering a handful of herbs, now exam- 
ing a leaf or twig, Timothy managed to reach the 
mountain top before noon. His stay upon this mighty 
promontory of sky land was brief, for the gathering 
of herbs was a matter of more importance with Tim- 
othy than the beauty and grandeur of Caesar’s Head 
and all his rugged kin. He was so often among these 
misty peaks that there was no novelty in them to him. 
He only remained long enough to exchange civilities 
with the kind and gentlemanly proprietor of the 
mountain house, “ Caesar’s Head Hotel,” and to take 
a glance across that dark ravine beyond that wild, 
scarce-trodden wilderness, called the “ Dismal,” to 
where the grand castellated mountain. Table Rock, 
rears its thousand feet of granite precipice ! What a 
landscape ! 

Timothy soon left the mountain top. He disap- 
peared down a familiar path, gathering the desired 


i66 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


plant as he went. On, on he journeyed down, down, 
searching carefully among the rocks, climbing, de- 
scending. He would descend the mountain, gather- 
ing all the herbs required. He would return through 
the valleys. He had started homeward, his basket 
filled. His way lay down a little stream that foamed 
and fretted between its rocky banks. The sun’s beams 
were beginning to slant from the west. Suddenly the 
sound of human voices caught Timothy’s ear. A 
step or two — he parted the thick ivy, and stood at 
the door of a shanty. “ Hallo ! ” cried a familiar 
voice. “Why, if it haint the docter ! Come in! 
come ini and take a horn,” and his friend Billy Corn 
had him in the little “still house” in a jiffy. Half 
a dozen brawny mountaineers stood and lounged 
around. “ Why, whar did you drap from, docter,” 
said another, “ so on-be-known to us all ? Jess look 
hur, hure’s some of a leetle the best ‘ blockaid ’ ever 
you smacked lips over, I swar.” And Billy Corn 
poured out a half pint measure of whiskey and offered 
it to Timothy. “ Redmond can’t beat this. Jess look 
now how she beads ! Try it, docter.” Thus urged, 
the doctor put the cup to his lips and took a swallow 
or two. 

“ O drink, man ! drink 1 it haint a gwine to hurt 
you I This is the rale truck, none of your durned 
pisen Yankee stuff Drink.” Timothy took another 
little dram. He could not keep pace with his moun- 
tain friends by any means, but he was not at all averse 
to a dram now and then. He rested a little while. 
In the circle was one stranger to Timothy. It was 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


167 


the red-hared ” man, Bill Skelton. He had but a 
short time before moved over from North Carolina. 
Warrants got too thick over there, and he had been 
obliged to change his base. “ The revenews ’’ were 
after him. Timothy was a little surprised at seeing 
him here, after what he had heard in the morning. 
But he understood it when he heard Skelton tell Billy 
Corn to fill his jug. 

“ The old woman is about looking for me,” said he. 
The jug was filled, but the red-haired man was in no 
hurry to go. He swaggered about and talked loud. 

“ I say, boys, you ought to see tis make licker over 
on yan side. This is nothin’ to it ; it’s as clur as 
chrysteal, and strong enough to bar a bullet up.” 

“ Hit cant be no clurer than this'^ said Billy Corn. 

“ Well, hit jes’ can ! It’ll take us tar heels to show 
you uns how to make licker.” 

“Now, Bill Skelton, you shet },our mouth — you 
tare-heels alius know so durned much about every 
thing, but manners,” retorted Billy Corn. Timothy 
not relishing a quarrel, took his basket of herbs and 
started. Billy stopped him. He filled a flask with 
whiskey and placed it in Timothy’s hand. 

“ It’s a mighty good plan to alius keep a flask by 
ye, docter. I hardly ever am ketched without a leetle 
drap,” said Billy. “ It’s powerful good physic.” 

“ I’ll be consarned ef it haint,” said the red haired 
man. Timothy thanked his friend and moved away. 

“ It is good physic ; it’s about the only cure for 
snake bite, and then milk sick its good for ///^^,” 
mused he as he walked. He had not gone far when 


i68 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


he drew the cork and took another taste. He stepped 
pretty light. A little rill ran gurgling down the 
mountain side. Timothy dipped his flask in it to 
cool it, and drawing the cork again took another swig. 
He began to feel merry. He felt like giving vent to 
his mirth. He knew but one dancing step. The 
backstep” — he deliberately stopped in the woods 
and danced the “ backstep” — only a squirrel or two, 
and a few jay birds witnessed it ; but Timothy felt a 
little ashamed presently, and moved on with great 
dignity, only he lifted his feet too high. He walked 
like a blind horse. By this time he had reached the 
public road. He was walking pretty slowly, lifting 
each foot as he stepped, about a foot and a half from 
the ground, and always putting them down in the 
wrong place. He sat, or rather tumbled down at 
last, on a heap of rocks, to rest. “ IBs good,” he kept 
thinking, “ for every thing — 

“Its good for me, and good for you. 

And good for everybody too.’’ 

He tried to sing. He got the stopper out of his 
flask once more. He carefully put it to his mouth, 
making several efforts, however, before he succeeded 
and began to drink. He did not stop this time, un- 
til the last drop had gurgled down his throat. He 
lay down, quite contented. As he lay there, he 
thought that somehow, he was transported to the 
Grumbling Spring. He could hear its gurgle, that 
always reminded him of an angry bear, close to his 
ear. Looking around, he found himself face to face 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


69 


with the oddest little creature he had ever seen in all 
his life. He was surprised, presently to observe that 
this miniature man was the exact image of himself, 
only a good deal more so: — that is, he was more 
hump-backed and weazen-faced, and was mounted 
upon even a slenderer pair of pipestems. The 
stranger also carried his basket of herbs, and his 
hands were thrust into his breeches pockets in pre- 
cisely the “ docter’s ” style. Why, the pair were as 
much alike as two black-eyed peas ! 

Timothy was, of course, inspired with feelings of 
respect, mingled with a little fear. It is not exactly 
pleasant to meet one’s “ double.” To his astonish- 
ment, the “ double ” frisked up to him, and grasping 
his hand in one equally bony and wrinkled, exclaimed : 

Well met, brother ! Thou- hast desires to know, 
and know thou shalt ! Thou hast desires to see, and 
see thou shalt !” And without further ado he jerked 
out a little tin box (the doctor carries the exact match 
to it always in his pocket) and hastily opening it, 
dipped his skinny finger in the contents, and before 
you could say “ Jack Robinson !” he had anointed 
Timothy’s eyes and was gone, with a “ ho ! ho !” as 
he turned the corner of the road in a flash. “ Thou 
shalt see ! Thou shalt see !” Timothy lay there 
propped against the rocky bank gazing in astonish- 
ment down the road where the “ conjuror” had disap- 
peared. He saw a wagon approaching, straining and 
struggling up the steep hillside, the teamster en- 
couraging his horses. When the wagon drew near, 
Timothy fixed a gaze of horror upon the teamster 
8 


170 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


walking by its side. Never had he seen so dreadful 
a spectacle ! Why the man was transparent as glass ! 
Timothy saw right through him, and horror of hor- 
rors ! his liver, just as the doctor had sometimes 
thought, was alive with little greedy worms that 
were literally devouring it. With wild gestures and 
in broken language he tried to warn the man of his 
condition, to offer to prescribe for him ! but the 
teamster only gave him a stare of surprise and crack- 
ing his whip, drove on. The next persons who came 
in sight he recognized as two patients of his ; one he 
had “ tead” and “ conjured” to his heart’s content, 
for a troublesome cough. The other he had treated 
for heart disease. They drew near, horrible ! Their 
condition was as bad or worse than the other. Again 
were Timothy’s wild theories confirmed. The lungs 
of one patient were being consumed by countless little 
wasp-like insects, they were inhaled and exhaled with 
the breath. The man blew a perfect swarm of them 
towards the poor frightened doctor, as he bade him 
good day.” The other patient’s heart was laid bare 
to Timothy’s gaze. It was worse than he had ever 
dreamed in his wildest moments. It was held writh- 
ing and throbbing in the slimy coils of a glittering 
little snake. Timothy gazed in terror upon its cruel 
bead-like eyes. The expanding and contracting of 
its coils around the struggling tortured victim had 
caused all those palpitations that the doctor had con- 
jured in vain. He groaned in anguish. 

” The poor little doctor has got a brick in his hat,” 
remarked one of the men. 


TIMOTHl TIMBERSHINS. 


71 


“ Let him be,” replied the other, he’ll get over it 
afore night, ’’ and they passed on. It was dark 
when Corn found Timothy coiled up on the road 
side. He understood the situation in an instant. He 
dismounted from his mare’s back and placing Timothy 
in the saddle, got up behind him. In due time he 
reached Timothy’s cabin and got him snug in the 
bed before he left him for his own home. 

The doctor passed a miserable, restless night, for 
though worn out with fatigue, he could not sleep. If 
by chance he fell into a doze, straight a vision of 
liver, lungs and heart would rise before him and 
frighten him back from dreamland. All the while the 
rumbling sound of the mysterious Grumbling Spring 
and the ominous parting words of the “ little con- 
jurer,” “ Thou shalt.?^^.^ Thou shalt rang in 

his ears. 

The weary night drew to a close and it was some 
relief to Timothy when he saw through the chinks of 
his cabin wall the first rosy rays of the morning. 

Billy Corn had thought that he would be all right 
in the morning, but it was not so. He crept from his 
bed and kindled a bright blaze upon his hearth and 
sat shivering over it, musing gloomily upon the oc- 
currences of the past day. What an awful headache 
he had. He did not remain long in that position 
before a rap at the door attracted his attention. As 
he arose to answer the call he caught a glimpse of 
himself reflected from a piece of looking-glass that 
stood balanced on one corner on the mantle shelf. 
With bristling hair and open mouth he stared for a 


172 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


moment, then fell with a shriek to the floor. He had 
seen the crowning horror, he had seen through his 
own skull, and lo ! perched astride his brain sat a 
hideous, grinning little devil, busily clawing and 
pounding upon his bump o{ with most 

fiendish delight ! He saw the little villain pound 
until the sparks flew ! Nature could endure no more, 
and he fainted. 

His kind neighbor, Billy Corn, whose rap at the 
door had aroused him, came to his assistance. He 
was placed in bed and continued as wild as a March 
hare until the “ regular,’^ whom he had so often an- 
noyed, kindly came to the rescue. A little physic and 
a blister on the back of his neck, brought him to his 
senses, but he was confined to his bed several days by 
weakness. 

When questioned by his rustic neighbors about his 
recovery, Timothy (intent to the last upon cheating 
the “ regular ”) always declared that one day, as he 
lay alone, in his cabin, the “ conjurer,’’ the little du- 
plicate of himself, skipped in at the door, and after 
examining his physical condition — (he was as poor as 
a whip-poor-will) — asked him for his box of “ magic 
ointment,” which he delivered up. His visitor then 
mumbled a few words which he could not understand, 
and touching his eyelids, relieved him of his super- 
fluous sight ; after which he saw nothing more of the 
“ conjurer.” 

“ And whar did he go ter, do you reckon, docter ?” 
asked Billy Corn. 

Timothy looked mysterious, knowing. 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


173 


I would not be surprised if he lives somewhere 
about the Grumbling Spring ; you know there is a 
mystery about it.” 

“Well! you don’t say so 1 I’m gwine thar afore 
long, and ef I don’t make a sarch for him, I ain’t 
alive !” 

“ If you find him, let me counsel you not to let him 
tamper with your eyes, for I tell you it is not good to 
see right through a man. Now, in 7ny case, it only 
confirmed some of my long cherished theories ; served 
the ends of science ; but it could do you no good, un- 
less you could see through a man’s motives^ that might 
do very well.” 

“ I shan’t let him tech my eyes, if I have the luck 
to find the gentleman at home,” replied Billy. 

There was a knowing twinkle in his eye : 

“ But here’s yer yerb basket and cunger box, I 
found them by the path this side the still T 


174 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


STORY IL 


From nearly any standpoint in the pleasant city of 
Greenville, S. C.,you may, on a clear day, see stretched 
far away along the horizon, many and many a mile of 
that beautiful range of mountains called Blue Ridge, 
and conspicuous among the higher peaks, that rise 
like sentinels above their rugged neighbors, your eye 
will be attracted by Table Rock. It looms against the 
sky like a huge fortress, or a grand old castle, erected 
for the purposes of defence, by some forgotten race of 
giants. 

It was at the base of this mountain that Timothy 
Timbershins sat down, one balmy summer afternoon, 
to rest his tired limbs. All day long he had gathered 
herbs from the steep cliff or the deep ravine, and now, 
as he sat in the deep cool shadow of the rock, he was 
prepared to enjoy his rest as well as his lunch. A 
little silvery rill fell, with a tinkling musical sound, 
down the steep mountain side, and diffused a most 
delicious coolness on the air, as it settled in a clear, 
dark pool among the heaps of gray stone and banks 
of green moss. The profound stillness brooding over 
the dense forest that lies along the base of the moun- 
tain, was broken now and then by the shrill whistle 
of a bird, or the bark of a grey squirrel perched 
among the thick branches, peering with curious eyes 
at the little “ Dr.’’ who had intruded upon its solitude. 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


175 


The “ Dr.” had spent nearly twenty years of his 
life in sight of this wonderful rock, and he thought he 
knew all its secrets. He knew the ways to ascend 
and descend its precipitous sides ; he knew where all 
its medicinal herbs grew, and where its cool, sweet 
waters gurgled, while far away, upon its dizzy top, he 
could lead you, any day, directly to a spot where hun- 
ter’s cups grew by the hundreds — cups daintily formed 
by nature’s hand, for the use of the children of the 
woods, and holding within the circle of their emerald 
brims, a charm against harmful libations, more power- 
ful than that of the fabled goblet of amethyst. 

Timothy carefully deposited his herb basket on the 
ground, disposed of his lunch, and then, reclining at 
ease upon a large clump of moss, betook himself to 
rest. He thought that he would doze a few moments 
and arise refreshed for his walk home. 

Hundreds and hundreds of feet above him rose the 
dread precipice, until its haughty brow seemed to 
touch the vault of heaven ! As he gazed upward with 
half-shut, dreamy eye, a large eagle flew out with a 
scream, from a cleft high up in the rock, and making 
a few circles upward, winged its flight to some distant 
peak. Timothy watched it until it disappeared in the 
depths of ether, and gradually he fell into a sort of 
re very. 

He thought of the past. Strange stories,” mur- 
mured he, “ could this old mountain tell, if once it 
could break its silence of thousands of years.” He 
thought of the time when the scream of the eagle was 
answered by the whoop of the savage lord of the 


176 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


woods, and when the leap of the wild deer down the 
mountain side, was followed by the twang of the red 
hunter’s bow. What wonderful changes had swept 
over the land since the white man first set foot upon 
it ! What storms of revolution, too, had shaken the 
pillars of State ! What convulsions had threatened 
the upheaval of society ! These thoughts naturally 
led him to the state of affairs in his own New Eng- 
land. 

He reverted ruefully to the woman’s rights revolu- 
tion, now on hand. He thought of the woman’s 
right associations, clubs, mass meetings, and so on, 
and wondered if ever a Melampus would arise to heal 
his country-women of their frenzy. The idea even 
suggested itself to him that possibly he might be the 
favored means of bringing relief. 

“Surely,” he murmured, “ there must be among the 
herbs of New England, the needed hellebore, if it 
could only be found ! and who is more apt to find it 
than the one who has made the study of the medi- 
cinal qualities of herbs a life long business.” He was 
half inclined to go in search of it. “ Is not Mrs. 
Prudence Tabiatha Tim — (the cracking of a twig made 
him start,) bershines dead and at rest ! ” he sighed. 
“There really can be no danger!” He relinquished 
his benevolent design, however, when he reflected 
upon the uncertainty of his reward. “ Melampus,” 
he said, “ received a kingdom for a similar service, 
and it was not too much.” 

How long the “ Dr.” lay thus dreaming, he did not 
know, but at last he was aroused by the sound of 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


177 


human voices. Quickly arising to try to discover 
from whence they came, great was his surprise to find 
that he had been sitting, not on a clump of moss at the 
foot of the old mountain, but upon the marble steps of 
a grand palace. On either side of him rose beautiful 
carved pillars. Through the broad entrance, which 
stood wide open, poured a flood of light from a hun- 
dred gorgeous lamps. With open mouth and dilated 
eyes the ‘^Dr.’’ stood gazing upon the startling scene. 
The mountain with which he was so familiar, over 
which he had roamed for twenty years, suddenly 
changed into a splendid palace. This rocky citadel 
of nature’s strength, excavated into a mansion of won- 
derful beauty ! Story above story it rose, gallery 
above gallery ! No wonder the poor wee Dr.” was 
bewildered — dazzled. He had read in his young 
days, in the old school house in far New England, 
how it had once been proposed to Alexander the 
Great, to have Mount Athos cut down into a huge 
figure of a man, but it had never entered into his 
thoughts that Table Rock might be excavated into a 
magnificent palace. So he stood and wondered and 
admired, all the while listening to those far off voices 
that came to him, somewhat softened by distance, 
from the inside of the palace. 

His curiosity was greatly excited, and despite a 
feeling of awe, he was drawing nearer and looking 
more boldly into the open door, when he was made 
to start, by the sudden appearance, at his side, of the 
little conjurer, the weazen-faced, spindle-legged dupli- 
cate of himself. There he stood, smirking and nod- 


178 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


ding, and looking as weather-beaten as ever. Timothy, 
remembering the ill luck, the terrors and trials that 
had followed his former interview with this individual, 
was a little skittish at first, but by a few friendly nods, 
and a nudge or two, the little conjurer contrived to 
overcome these scruples, and presently they entered 
the palace together, the conjurer offering his services 
as a guide to Timothy, to show him the wonders of 
the place. 

Down long corridors, up winding stairs, through 
splendid apartments they took their way, and ever as 
they advanced those voices, which had first attracted 
Timothy’s attention, became more and more distinct. 
As Timothy listened, lo ! above the rest, one voice 
rose, in clear shrill treble, that sent an electric thrill 
through his nerves ! There was something in the 
tones of that voice that touched a chord of memory^ 
vibrating back to the turbulent days of his married 
life, in distant New England. He thought, with a 
shudder, of those fierce domestic tempests, in which 
that voice had played so conspicious a part, and he 
would fain have beaten a hasty retreat, but he was re- 
assured and urged on by the conjurer. 

They reached, at last, the door of the Assembly 
Hall whence those voices proceeded, and looked in. 
Here, again, “ a spirit in his feet’’ (a prudent spirit, 
too,) would have carried him back out of danger, had 
not Timothy been shoved into the crowded room by 
the conjurer, who whispered at the same time : 

“ A woman’s rights meeting.” 

You may be sure the ‘^Doctor” made no effort 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


179 


to attract attention but crept quietly into the crowd, 
like old Malbecco in the Satyr’s herd. The voters, 
however, took no manner of notice of the intrusion, so 
intent were they upon the business before them. 
Resolution after resolution was passed with a rapidity 
that fairly made his head swim. He was trying to 
steady himself by hugging fast to a pillar near wliich 
he chanced to stand, and endeavoring to listen to 
somebody, (for everybody in the room seemed to be 
talking,) when close at his side rose the shrill, nasal 
tones of that terrible voice ! 

“ If I amf shrieked the voice, and Timothy’s hair 
stood on ends, If I am the poor, down-trodden, en- 
slaved, mistreated, forlorn, forsaken wife, of that spin- 
dle-shanked, weazen-faced, cross-grained, htimp-backed, 
(Timothy quaked at every word) lazy, good-for noth- 
ing, doubled and twisted fool, Timothy Timber — ” 

Timothy gave a loud scream, and — lo ! he instantly 
found himself outside the palace ! Yes, seated upon 
the same clump of moss at the foot of the mountain, 
only, it was now night, instead of afternoon. The 
pale light of the moon fell white and still upon the 
cold, grey face of the rock, but he looked in vain for 
the palace. The solid, immutable mass of rock, rose 
in its awful stillness and grandeur above him, but the 
carved pillars, the shining portal, the golden windows, 
vast Assembly Hall and clamorous voters, were all 
gone! To his infinite relief, only a mournful sighing 
of the wind, and the hooting of an owl in a tree over 
his head, were to be heard. Up, up he gazed with 
awe-struck eyes. Hundreds of feet the rock rose 


i8o 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


clear ; the moonbeams penetrated the crevices, and 
here and there a slight projection cast a shadow ; but 
palace, wife, conjurer, had vanished! The little 
“ Doctor ” caught up his herb-basket and hobbled 
home as fast as his legs could carry him. 

In telling his story to his neighbors, he always 
wound up by ‘‘thanking his stars’’ that he found 
himself outside and not inside the palace. “ For,” he 
would say, “ what fate could be more terrible than 
that of being shut up in a perpetual woman’s rights 
meeting I ” 

“ The little conjurer mus’ a been tamperin’ with 
yer eyes agin, docter,” said Billy Corn, as the “ Doc- 
tor ” finished telling him of it, ‘‘ you know hit haint 
fur from the rock to the Grumbling Spring.” 

“That’s true,” said Timothy, “but you see, I 
heard the voices and saw the palace before the con- 
jurer made his appearance.” 

That was a poser. Billy sat for some time in pro- 
found thought. 

“ Well,” he said, at last, “ thar’s conjerment in it, 
becase, ef thar wasn’t we could all see it.” 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


l8l 


STORY III. 


TIMOTHY GOES A COURTING. 

All things are subject to the laws of love. — Cicero. 

Near the clear mountain stream, North Saluda, 
stands the prettily situated and prettily named village of 
Marietta, named in honor of the Landgraves’ fair and 
noble wife. Hills, vales, rich savannas, sparkling 
river and blue mountains, combine to form the varied 
and beautiful scenery around this pleasant hamlet. 

Leaving Marietta early one sunny afternoon in May, 
Timothy Timbershins took his way home on foot, 
his usual mode of travel. He had been down to make 
a few purchases at “ the store,” where the accommo- 
dating merchant kept almost anything that a back- 
woodsman could call for, and sold goods for cash, or 
exchanged them, on fair terms, for country produce. 
Timothy had carried down a few dozens of eggs, and, 
in return, took home the worth of them in groceries. 
With his little basket on his arm, he jogged along 
well pleased with his day’s trade. 

He had journeyed several miles in a north-westerly 
direction, when he came in sight of the clearing, and 
house of his friend, Billy Cqrn. He was well ac- 
quainted with the neighborhood, and turning off from 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


182 

the public road a few steps, he came to the cool, spark- 
ling spring that supplied his friend’s family with water. 
He put his basket on the ground and seated himself 
on the trunk of a fallen tree, to rest a few minutes 
before quenching his thirst, for the laws of hygiene 
were almost always in his mind. 

While he sat there fanning his ancient visage with 
his weather-beaten beaver, he glanced up the path 
that led from the spring to the house and saw Delia 
Ann, Billy Corn’s eldest daughter, leisurely descending 
the hill with her water bucket on her arm. Timothy 
looked at her as she approached, and a smile smoothed 
the wrinkles from his brow. 

He had never before noticed what a well grown 
and remarkably pretty girl she was ! Her rosy 
cheeks ; her bright black eyes, her chesnut hair had 
never excited his admiration until that moment. She 
was attired in a plain home-spun dress, fashioned by 
her own deft fingers ; but that did not detract from 
her beauty in Timothy’s eyes : 

“ Beauty unadorned, etc. ” 


Her figure, Timothy thought, was perfect, at the 
same time plump and graceful ; her dimpled hands 
and round, white arms, (for her sleeves were tucked 
above her elbows) ; her pretty naked feet, and ‘ ankles 
fine,’ all came in for a share of his attention and ad- 
miration. ^ 


“ In the spring a'young man’s fancy 
Lightly turns to thoughts of love.’ 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


83 


And as the rustic beauty picked her way towards 
him the docter be^an to feel a revival of the old for- 
gotten gallantry that had distinguished him in his 
young days. 

When she had reached the spring he greeted her 
with a bow that would have done credit to Lord 
Chesterfield, and stepping nimbly forward with a smile 
intended to be irresistible, he offered to fill her bucket. 

“ Thankee, docter, I can wait on myself, ’’ cried she, 
carelessly : “ But won’t you have a drink and she 

dipped a gourdfull and offered it to him. 

With another Chesterfield like bow, and a still more 
expressive smile, he received it. 

“ Nectar from your fair hands !” he murmured, 
softly : “ I drink to your health, lovely Miss Delia 
Ann !’’ 

“ I’m quite well, docter, but mother’s been right 
poorly,” she replied. 

“ Ah, these little hands were not made for manual 
labor!” he continued, in his most gallant style : “ Let 
me carry your bucket for you. Miss Delia Ann.” 

Delia Ann looked at him in astonishment — her fine 
black eyes dilated to their fullest size, but remember- 
ing his many crack-brained freaks, she answered : 

” I’m obleeged to you, docter, but I’m abler to tote 
the water ner you is, and you’d better look to yer 
basket.” 

The love-light faded somewhat in Timothy’s eyes 
when he turned and saw that the ever-aggravating, 
mischievous “ rooters ” had upset the basket and 
scattered the contents on the ground. 


184 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


He let go hand and bucket and ran to the rescue. 

A weary time he would have had gathering up the 
scattered and broken packages, had not Delia Ann 
kindly helped him, and he, at last, regarded the acci- 
dent as rather a piece of good fortune, when she 
turned to go and invited him to accompany her. 

Pappy is at home, and will be glad to see you,” 
■she said. 

Timothy glanced down at his dusty shoes and old 
grey clothes, and declined the invitation : 

But ril call on you next Sunday, Miss Delia Ann,” 
he added, with his best bow and smile ; ” you may 
look for me, sure !” 

With her pretty figure erect, her bucket on her 
head, one white arm and plump little hand holding it, 
she did, indeed, look charming, as she wended her way 
homeward. 

The sound of a hunter’s horn, “ blowing, blowdng, 
blowing !” came to Timothy’s ears, as he stood there 
watching her receding form with wistful eyes, and it 
came to her ears, too, for, pausing, as the mellow notes 
floated to her through the cool, green woods, she 
turned half-round to listen. 

Timothy thought, poor old fellow, that she was 
about to turn around to look back at him^ and put 
himself in what he considered a graceful, striking 
attitude. But when the matchless, magical music 
died away in prolonged echoes, the fair maiden moved 
slowly on towards her father’s cabin.” 

” Modesty made her change her mind,” thought 
Timothy ; “ I am certain she wanted to look back.” 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


185 


It’s Tom Murry’s hunting horn,” though the 
maid (she had utterly forgotten Timothy, under the 
influence of those wild notes). 

“ I wonder if he’ll call by.” 

‘‘ Well,” mused Timothy complacently, she is a 
real pretty girl, and so kind. She is a girl of sense^ 
too ; she knows the difference between a country 
clown and a man of science, she does. How well she 
treated me. (The “Doctor” was falling in love.) “She 
evidently wanted me to go home with her, and I hate 
to refuse her anything, but ” — and he glanced again 
at his faded habiliments. “ I’ll fix up a little ; I guess 
she’ll be glad enough to receive the attention of Doc- 
tor Timothy Timber shins and he stepped out into the 
road and turned his face homeward. So absorbed 
was Timothy in his thoughts of buxom Delia Ann 
and his purposed visit, that too gay equestrians who 
came dashing down the road in gallant style, had to 
rein their horses with a tight hand and bring them to 
a sudden halt, to keep from running over him as he 
plodded on in the middle of the road. Cupid is blind, 
you know, and the Doctor saw nothing until he was 
almost under the horses heels. He woke up for a 
moment to hustle to one side. Mabel Merriweather 
and Lauraine Griggsby, the fair equestrians, looked at 
him curiously. 

“ It is Doctor Timbershins,” said Mabel, “ what a 
queer little creature.” 

“ Is he deaf?” asked Lauraine. “ It looks like the 
clatter of our horses feet on this hard road ought to 
have warned him. He seemed neither to see or hear us.’' 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


1 86 


“ He is a strange, absent-minded little fellow. He 
is a “ conjuror’’ and a “Doctor.” I dare say he has 
been to see Mrs. Corn, she has been sick. Let us 
ride by the house and enquire about her,” and they 
rode up to Billy Corn’s gate. Delia Ann ran out to 
open it for them. 

‘‘ We have not time to come in, thank you Delia 
Ann. We met a Doctor Timbershins out in the road 
and thought perhaps your mother was worse. I hope 
she is not.’’ 

“ She is a heap better, Miss Mabel. She haint been 
in bed these two days.” 

“ I am glad to hear it.” 

“ Docter Timbershins haint been heer, and that 
haint the worst of it — ’’ 

“ Why what is the matter ?’’ laughed Mabel, “ I 
thought he was your particular friend.’’ 

“Pap’s particlar friend; he’s an old gander,” and 
she told the young ladies of his conversation and 
behavior at the spring, and what a laugh they did 
have. 

“ Cupid’s work, hey ? making the little Doctor 
both deaf and blind,” said Lauraine. “ That’s pretty 
bad,” and they galloped away. Over the hills, down 
the valley, their two proud spirited horses bore them. 
Mabel, the beautiful, graceful brunette whose dark 
eyes and smiling little mouth set with the loveliest 
tiny pearls of teeth, had a witchery about her that all 
felt who came into her gay presence, and Lauraine 
was the fairest, most golden-haired blonde that ever 
rode among these green hills “ in maiden meditation. 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


187 


fancy free.” Side by side they rode, the best of 
friends, agreeing through their very differences. 

In the meantime Timothy was trudging along 
towards his cabin in the hills. The road he traveled 
that pleasant afternoon lay through a lovely land. 
The fair valley of the Saluda opened before him, 
hemmed in on either side by low ranges of forest 
clad hills and guarded in the distance by those grim 
sentinel mountains, Caesar’s Head and Table Rock. 
Ever and anon the river glistened through an opening 
in the trees that shaded its banks, and beautiful fertile 
fields spread their broad acres to his gaze ; but 
Timothy’s thoughts were otherwhere. He had cared 
little for love during the last quarter of a century. 
Cupid had given him a long respite, but was likely 
enough now to make amens for past neglect. Cupid t 
why all the little man’s thoughts as he jogged on,, 
were rose-hued with the sheen of the love god’s 
wings. When the great rock cast its long shadow 
over the valley as the sun at last sunk behind it, 
flushing all his courtier clouds a rosy-red with his 
parting kiss, Timothy was at his cabin door ; but 
his thoughts were of rosy cheeks, not of sun-kissed 
clouds. 

We have seen that pretty Delia Ann went about 
her business, ;/<?/ all unconscious of the conquest she 
had made. With an instinct said to be common to 
the sex,” she understood the state of the ” Docter’s’” 
mind pretty well. 

“ The old fool ! ” she laughed softly to herself. “ I 
jess wonder what Tom Murry ’ill say to findin the 


i88 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


likes of him^ propped up at our ’oust next Sunday. ‘Miss 
Deliar Ann/ indeed. He must think boys is scase. 
I’ll flout him.” 

But now the sweet music of the hunter’s horn 
sounded nearer and nearer, until hunter and hounds 
appeared at the edge of the clearing. Delia Ann had 
barely time to smoothe her dark wavy tresses, and 
“bresh up the hath,” when handsome Tom Murry 
stood in the cabin door, welcomed by all. 

“ I’m over the crap the first time, and thought I 
could spare time to slip over and see how Uncle Billy 
is getting on,” he explained to Mrs. Corn. But his 
dark eyes dwelt on pretty Delia Ann. 

“You are alius ahead of everybody else, Tom,” 
said Mrs. Corn. “ My old man wont git over till 
next week.” Tom deposited his gun on the rack over 
the door where Uncle Billy’s old rifle lay, and pro- 
ceeded to enjoy himself He was a great favorite 
with the family, and came over right often to “ see 
how Uncle Billy came on.” On this occasion he staid 
until bed time, and walked home by moonlight. After 
his departure Delia Ann said to her mother : “Mother, 
I seen the docter at the spring to-day, and he behaved 
mighty queer like. He was powerful perlite. It was 
‘ Miss Deliar Ann ’ this, and ‘ Miss Deliar Ann ’ that. 
I never seed the like.” I ast him to come up to the 
’ouse and see pap, but he look't down at his old close an 
said, ‘ No, thankee. Miss Deliar Ann, but I’ll come to 
see you next Sunday, you may look fur me, shore.’ ” 

“ Bless the gracious ! ” cried the mother, sharply. 
“ What’s got into the old creeter’s head, how? He’d 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


189 


better go to see old aint Patsy Case, an she need^nt 
ter starch and iron the wrinkles out er her face, to 
look young ernough fur the likes of him — nuther !’’ 

“ He’s a gettin’ more crack-brainisher than ever 
seems to me. He must a been among the ‘ Moon- 
shiners ’ again,” laughed Delia Ann. 

Timothy’s thoughts, night and day, were of the 
lovely Delia. He longed for the day in which he was 
to pay the promised visit. “ The great Cicero was 
right,” he would mutter. “ All things are subject to 
the laws of love.” Yet the noble Senator never met 
among the stately dames of Rome, so fair a maid as 
sweet Delia Ann Corn.” What castles in the air he 
did build ! No herbs were gathered that week. The 
red-hared ” man’s wife got sick on Saturday, and 
sent for him. P'or the first time since he begun to 
practice, he excused himself from going. The old 
fellow could scarcely eat or sleep, so filled was his 
mind with the new excitement. 

Bright and beautiful at last came Sunday morning. 
He was awake by the time the morning star cast its 
fair beams over the dewy hill-tops, and long before 
Sol’s golden splendors glorified azure mountain and 
fruitful plain, he had cooked and eaten his hasty 
breakfast, and was very busy overhauling the con- 
tents of an old trunk, that he had pulled out from its 
long hiding place under his bed. 

The morning was peculiarly beautiful. There had 
been a shower of rain during the night, and all nature 
was dressed as for a bridal, in sparkling jewels of rain- 
drops. Far up yonder, Table Rock glistened against 


190 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


the pale sky, like a huge mass of molten silver. Down 
on the river a long line of white fog brightened under 
the early rays of the sun. “ The birds sang love on 
ilka spray,’’ and sweet odors floated out from the 
shadowy woods and flowery hedges. But Timothy 
was oblivious of every thing, save the contents of that 
old trunk, and his promised visit. 

First, he drew forth a pair of black pants, and a 
coat to match. They were rusty with age. He 
turned them over and over, and held them up to the 
light, and seeing that they were whole, if rather faded 
in color and antiquated in cut, he laid them, with a 
satisfied air, on the bed. Next he fished up a shirt. 
The fingers that stitched “ gusset, and band, and 
seam,” had long since ceased from their toil, but 
Timothy did not think of that. “ Pretty well kept ” 
(was his comment as he deposited it beside the pants 
and coat) “ to have been made twenty odd years ago. 
It’s all right ! ” Then he carefully undid a brown 
paper parcel, out of which fell a blue silk neck-tie. 
Time had somewhat faded its azure hue, in spite of 
Timothy’s care, and there were several yellowish 
looking spots on it; but he folded and re-folded it 
until he almost concealed those defects. ‘‘ It will 
do ! ” he exclaimed triumphantly. Now for his shoes. 
He had but one pair, and they were rather a loose fit, 
apart from being pretty well worn. So he searched 
among the old papers, rags and last year’s herbs, 
heaped in one corner of the room, until he found his 
brush. “ She’ll keep things in their places,” he mut- 
tered as he sat down to his task of blacking. “ How 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


I9I 


desolate a house is without a woman in it ! ” After 
spending a good deal of labor and patience on them, 
he smiled to see his old shoes assume a glossy black. 
The sunbeam? shining through the chinks in his cabin 
wall, now warned him that time was on the wing, 
and he began his toilet in earnest He dotlned his 
well-kept shirt, his suit of black, and his glossy shoes, 
in haste, but when it came to arranging his hair, he 
stood before the bit of looking-glass some time. First 
he could not get the “ part ” straight Then his locks 
were refractory, in the habit of standing erect, every 
hair its own master, and it was not without the aid of 
a lot of soap and a stiff brush that he could reduce 
them to subjection. But he succeeded in the end in 
getting them to lie pretty close — all except one little 
tuft of grayish hair that bristled at the back of his 
head. It stood out like the feathers on the neck of a 
“hacked” rooster. But Timothy, turning his bit of 
glass this way and that to get a good view of himself, 
failed to catch a glimpse of that particular lock of 
hair. So it was, with an expression of gratified vanity, 
that he put the finishing touch to his toilet, by folding 
the blue silk neck-tie about his throat and tying it in 
a flaring bow. After pulling gently at the hem of his 
breeches legs (he had no confidence in their strength 
to resist a harder pull, and they seemed to have 
shrunken since he' wore them last), he took a final 
survey of himself in the glass, and, carefully closing 
his cabin door, started. As he walked down the little 
foot-path that led to the public road, he noticed a 
cluster of pretty purple wild flowers. Thinking of the 


192 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


roses and pansies — “ the beautiful Puritan pansies ” 
that he used to gather in far New England and bear 
as love tokens to his Prudence Tabiatha, of blessed (?) 
memory, he stooped and plucked a handful and fast- 
ened them jauntily to the breast of his coat. He felt 
smart and trim, and stepped along with youthful en- 
ergy. There was new life in his old limbs. Cramps, 
rhumatism, pains were forgotten. Such magicians 
are Hope and Love! Talk of the fabled Fountain of 
Youth 1 Had not Timothy’s soul drank the liquid 
glances of a pair of sparkling black eyes ? Had not 
his old blood been set bounding and glowing under 
the magic touch of a “ bonny brown hand ? ” The 
vision, that lovely Sabbath morning, of fair Delia 
Ann, with flushed cheeks and quickened heart throbs, 
watching for her lover, made him move like a knight 
at a tournament ! How gleefully his thoughts ran 
on I How bright and fresh his life would be, a sweet 
young wife to keep his cabin neat and trim, and watch 
for his coming with love-lit eyes ! Oh, those bland- 
ishments of love I He felt like a bridegroom already 1 
“ Billy Corn ” mused he, “ will not make so bad a 
father-in-law, though he is an ignorant fellow. He is 
sure to be well pleased with the match, for he looks 
up to me and will be proud of the connection — and 
sweet Delia Ann. She has sense enough to see that 
I am not of the common rabble. What if she does 
lack education — there is nothing to hinder me from 
teaching her all a woman needs to know ; and, I don’t 
know but that she is sweeter as she is — I hate a blue 
stocking. She will be proud and happy in her hus- 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


193 


band^s superiority! — * Mrs. Dr. Timbershins 1’ It don’t 
sound bad, I am certain.” 

Thus the poor little fellow jogged along, wrapped 
in blissful imaginings, and did not think of fatigue 
until he reached the enclosure of his friend’s house. 
At the gate he paused. He saw there hitched to a 
swinging limb, a mule that looked like lorn Murry’s 
mouse colored mule, and close by stood Billy Corn’s 
fat, sorrel mare, with Delia Ann’s red plush saddle on 
her back. After a moment’s thought he murmured 
to himself : “ The old folks going to meeting, I guess. 
Well, I don’t object to that ; I don’t come to see them 
this time I” and he moved on. Two black-and-tan 
hounds (Tom Murry’s again) ran yelping to meet him 
and presently old Billy himself appeared at the door. 
But no Delia Ann 1 “ Modesty 1” thought Timothy, 

“ I guess she sees me well enough, through some 
chink,” and he strutted along erect as a Georgia Major. 
Half a dozen little Corns, with flaxen heads and 
sharp eyes peeped round the corners of the cabin and 
the old lady walked out of the kitchen, brushing her 
apron as she came, but no Delia Ann yet. Timothy 
reached the door step all smiles and condescension — 
eager expectancy written on his features. 

“ Come in docter, come in I” cried hospitable Billy 
Corn. Glad to see ye, docter I” 

“ How do you do, docter — come in ” echoed Mns. 
Corn. Hand the docter a chur thar, Dely Ann.” The 
” docter ” stood stock still in the middle of the floor 
staring with bewildered eyes— for — seated in one 
corner of the room— close together, too— sat the fair 
9 


194 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


Delia Ann and handsome Tom Murry ! Where were 
the smiles with which the wee man entered the cabin 
door? Where were the hopes with which he had 
turned towards that fatal corner at the mention of her 
name ? Alas ! Delia Ann was heartless enough to 
snigger as she obeyed her mother’s order and quickly 
placed a chair. 

“ Takeachur, docter — its as cheap settin’ asstandin’, 
’sides you’ve had a powerful long walk for a old 
man !” added Mrs. Corn. “ At your time uv life sich 
a walk hairit no trifle !” Timothy seated himself with- 
out uttering a word. After a moment’s silence, Tom 
Murray arose and remarked : 

“ We had better be goin, Miss Dely Ann — Til bring 
your hoss,” and he walked out towards the gate. 
Delia Ann donned her riding skirt and hat in a jiffy, 
and bowing, ceremoniously to the “ docter, ” she 
tripped out of the cabin. With Tom’s assistance she 
was soon mounted upon her horse and riding merrily 
away through the greenwood — her handsome hoosier 
lover cantering by her side. The sound of their 
horses hoofs and her “ treble laughter ringing clear,” 
were the death knell to the hopes of the poor little 
Doctor. He sat gazing out at the door through which 
she had gone, with his mouth open and a dazed ex- 
pression on his face. It was all like a dream to him ! 
How suddenly had the frost fallen on his blossoms ! 
How fast were all the rose-hues (from Cupid’s wings!) 
dying out of his life, and the old gray coming back I 
Billy Corn — kind uncle Billy — seeing how crest-fallen 
and wretched he looked, sat down by him and tried 


TIMOTHY TIMBERHINS. 


195 


to talk to him. But Timothy had no heart to talk. 
The little flaxen heads, six in number peeped in now 
and then, and he caught, once or twice, the sound of 
a suppressed titter. He rather abruptly rose to go : 

“ Good day, Billy Corn.” 

“ O, stay all day with us, docter ; me and the old 
woman’s by ourselves ; be sociable like — stay all day.” 

“ No, thank you ; I feel rather poorly, and I think 
I’ll go.’^ 

And go he did. When he was fairly out of hear- 
ing, Billy remarked : 

“ Old ’oman, I wonder what the docter bloomed 
out so fur to-day ? 

His wife gave him a knowing wink. 

** I don’t know, old man, unless he means bizness.'^ 

“ What bizness ? ” 

“ Why, means to come a courtin.’^ 

“ You don’t say so ! ” 

The old woman laughed till the tears stood in her 
eyes. 

“ Why, old man, he met Dely Ann at the spring, 
tother day,” she said, ‘'and was powerful perlite. He 
tuck on smartly, and told her he was a cornin’ to see 
her to-day, and you see, he corned.’^ 

“Well, well! who’d a thought the old weazle was 
up to any sich I ” 

“ He stared like he seed a ghost, when he set eyes 
on Tom Murry, and you seen what a plight he left 
in ? I think he’s bloomed out fur about the last time.” 

“ Poor old docter ! I see it all now, as plain as 
daylight.’^ 


196 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


And the little flaxen heads with the six pairs of 
sharp eyes saw it all too ! While sweet Delia Ann 
and her gallant lover rode gaily away, the “ Doctor ” 
took the back track to his cabin. He longed to get 
his Sunday clothes put away in the old trunk again. 
He met two of his neighbors as he trudged wearily 
along. They stared at him in surprise. They had 
never seen him trimmed up in that style before. 

He needs another blister on the back uv his neck, 
by Ned ! ” said one. 

Yes,” replied the other, “ fur he’s three sheets in 
the wind, sartin ! ” 

When he reached his cabin at last, he did not rest 
until he had resumed his suit of faded grey, and re- 
placed his Sunday clothes in their ancient receptacle. 
The old blue neck tie, too, he folded like the banner 
of the “ lost cause,’’ and* laid it reverently away with 
the things of the past. He was the little withered 
root doctor again, in his suit of hodden grey. He 
had indeed “ bloomed out ” for the last time. The 
killing, cruel frost had fallen upon him. Love had 
led him a fool’s dance, and now, as he sat there, 
through the long, garish Sunday afternoon, he thought 
bitterly : 

Women are all alike ; They are all fools ; and if 
she had rather have that ignorant young hoosier, who 
struts about with his boots outside his breeches, and 
who never read a book in all his life, than such a man 
as / am — why, let her go ! ” 

He spied the cluster of wild flowers that had 
adorned his breast in the morning. It had fallen on 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


197 


the floor as he laid his coat away. He gave it a 
spiteful kick that sent it into the ashes on the hearth. 

“ She encouraged me, she did/’ he cried, “ only to 
show off before that ignoramus, Tom Murry. Well, 
she may make the most of it, for its the last time 
she’ll ever have the chance to slight Doctor Timothy 
Timbershins ! I’ll never be fooled by a woman, 
again ; there is no dependence in any of them ! ” 

Towards evening, he began to feel hungry. He 
kindled a fire on the hearth and sat the tea-kettle to 
boil. “ I can keep house,” he muttered, without a 
woman in it to drive me out of my senses; and cooks 
too,” as he placed the bread oven ready, “ as well as 
Delia Ann Corn, or any of her faithless sex.” 

After supper he felt better, a cup of hot coffee some- 
what revived his spirits, and when he sat down before 
a cheerful fire of blazing ■ pine-knots, he actually 
chuckled. 

“ And I might have been fool enough to marry her, 
if I had not seen with my own eyes that she is a 
Jezabel. Suppose now,” and he glanced complacent- 
ly around his comfortable room, “Suppose now that 
there were six little imps, like those white headed 
young ones of old Bill Corn’s, ripping and ranting 
over my cabin. The fates are kind. It is best some- 
times for a man not to have his will.” 

He sat sometime gazing into the glowing embers, 
enjoying the warmth and light. 

“ To-morrow, I guess, I will go to see Bill Skelton’ 
wife,” he said. “ I would have gone Saturday, if I 
had not been under promise to visit that brainless 


198 


TIMOTHY TIMBERSHINS. 


chit. Skelton’s good pay, they say, and I can walk 
there by ten o^clock, even if I go by Mrs. Cross’ farm 
to get the yellow root. Mrs. Cross will not law 7ne, 
She is a friend to science, she is.” So Timothy 
changed the current of his thoughts, and thus ended 
his second love. In our next chapter we will see 
whether ‘VMiss Sary ” is a “friend to science,” or 7iot, 





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